Non sibi, sed patri
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: This story is now complete. See author note for details. When Vance gives Tim some bad news, it starts a chain of events that stretches back 30 years when his father was still in the Navy and could have drastic effects on Tim's future...and his life. Stars Tim, but the whole team will be important.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Usually, I post stories on ffnet only when I'm finished, but this story I'm going to post in progress. The reason is that I'm writing for a challenge to write the longest story I've ever written and that means I need to be at least 169,000 words. That's a lot of words (even for me), and I'm going to need encouragement to keep me going on a story this long. :) Hopefully, it will be interesting enough that people will be willing to stick with me for that long.

This story is going to be using my personal fanon for Tim's family (Sam and Naomi McGee) and is a story I've been wanting to write for a long time. I'll give you the background you need in the story itself, but if you're interested, you can read about them on my profile. The story takes place in a semi-AU situation because Ziva is gone, but Ellie isn't there. Tony is there, but there's no Delilah. This is to make the writing easier for me because with all the cast changes, I still haven't quite figured out how to deal with it all. So very slightly AU, but still the characters you recognize (I hope).

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS or its characters. Sam and Naomi McGee are mine, though. :) I love them so much more than what the show came up with. Regardless, I'm not making any money from this story.

* * *

 **Non sibi, sed patri  
** by Enthusiastic Fish

"What was silent in the father speaks in the son, and often I found in the son the unveiled secret of the father."  
Friedrich Nietzsche

 **Chapter 1**

"And then, God says, 'No, get your own dirt!'"

Tim laughed as he and Tony walked toward their desks.

"That's a terrible joke, Tony. I like it."

"You're a science guy. You've got to like lame science jokes, then, right?"

"They're not lame! If they're science jokes, they can't be lame!"

"Okay, then, tell me one."

"Fine." Tim thought for a moment. "Okay. A proton walks into a bar."

"A proton?"

"Yes. Do you know what a proton is, Tony?" Tim asked.

"Ha ha. Very funny. Go on."

"Just checking. So a proton walks into a bar and he orders a drink. The bartender asks him, 'Are you sure?' And the proton says, 'I'm positive!'"

Tony chuckled. "Oh, that's so lame."

"Okay. Here's part two. A neutron walks into a bar and orders a drink. Then, he asks the bartender how much it will be. The bartender says, 'For you? No charge.'"

"Lame. Lame. Lame."

"And funny. Don't forget funny," Tim said, laughing.

They sat down.

"They're not bad."

"They're hilarious and you know it," Tim said.

The elevator dinged and Vance got off. That was different enough that they both stopped talking in surprise.

"Gibbs is down with Ducky, Director Vance," Tony said. "I can call him up if you..."

"Agent McGee. I need to speak with you when you have a few minutes. Preferably today," Vance said, not even looking at Tony.

"Of course. I can come up in about half an hour, probably. I just need to log our interviews."

"Good."

Then, Vance walked up the stairs and disappeared into his office.

"What was _that_ about?" Tony asked.

"I have no idea," Tim said. "Sounds really serious, doesn't it. ...but he said whenever I have time. If I was going to get reprimanded or something, he wouldn't have left it open to me, would he?"

"I have no idea. He doesn't like me."

Tim smiled a little. "I guess he likes me, but I sure can't tell sometimes."

"You'd probably better get going on your interview."

"Yeah, and hope that Gibbs doesn't come up here and give us something else to do two hours ago," Tim said.

They both fell silent and got to work. This wasn't a big deal. No one's life depended on this case. It was more of doing some of the initial legwork for a case that would end up in Legal. Still, it needed to be done.

Tim sped through his and then, Tony watched him go up the stairs to Vance's office. He vanished from sight and Tony went back to work.

About ten minutes later, Gibbs appeared.

"Where's McGee?" he asked.

"Up in Vance's office."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know why. Vance just showed up and said he needed Tim when he had the time. Tim logged the interview and then went up to his office."

Gibbs didn't look happy about that, but he sat down and started his own work. Tony knew better than to say anything more.

After another fifteen minutes, Tim came out of Vance's office. Gone was any lightness. In fact, he seemed to trudge down the steps and then sat down heavily at his desk.

"What happened, Tim? You get in trouble for something?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I didn't."

He looked at Gibbs.

"Boss, I need the weekend off."

The eyebrow went up again.

"I need to help my parents. They're renovating a bathroom and Mom's been pestering me to come up and give them a hand. They don't like hiring contractors. It would just be Saturday and Sunday."

Silence.

"I know it's last minute. I should have done it sooner, but we don't have anything big going on right now, and...and I figured you could do without me for a day or two. It's only Saturday and Sunday I'm asking off."

"What did Vance want?" Gibbs asked.

Tim's eyes dropped.

"Sorry, Boss. It's classified. Top Secret. You'd have to be read in."

"Whoa, Probie," Tony said. "That sounds heavy."

"Heavy-ish." Tim looked up. "Boss? The weekend?"

"Fine."

"Thanks. I'm going to leave tonight. I'll get to Ohio by midnight."

Gibbs nodded, and Tony waited. He was sure that Gibbs was going to tell Tim to leave right now. There was no reason to stay. They'd finished the interviews. All that was left was some legwork and it wasn't like they were going to do that tonight.

"Go now, McGee."

Tim didn't protest or anything.

"Thanks, Boss."

He gathered up his stuff and left before there could be any more questions.

"What was that about, Boss?" Tony asked.

"Don't know. Yet."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim let out a whoosh of air as he walked into his apartment. He had never been so angry in his entire life, and it had never been more important to hide that from the people around him. The problem was that, now, he wasn't even sure who he was most angry at.

Never mind. He had a lot more things to worry about now than who was most deserving of his fury. He went into his bedroom and pulled out his large duffle bag. He wouldn't be back here for a while. Maybe never.

He packed a wide selection of clothes, not knowing where he'd end up. His plans were still too nebulous.

Then, he began the packing that wouldn't be normal.

He went to his computer supplies and pulled out an old laptop. He sat down and began cobbling together a new one. He had to make sure that it wouldn't leave any traces when he started the work he was already assuming he'd be doing. Then, he got his older phone and got out his extra SIM cards. He installed three of them into his phone. He smiled to himself as he remembered that he'd done this once before just to see how well it worked.

Then, he slipped that into a laptop case along with the laptop he'd finished. He couldn't deactivate his current phone just yet. If he got any calls, it would lead people to think something was wrong.

Something was, but nothing he could get help with.

That was all a couple of hours of work, but since he'd been allowed to leave early, it wouldn't make much difference. He hadn't told his parents he was coming home.

Then, he went back into his bedroom and opened his sock drawer. At the bottom, beneath a few pairs of old and worn socks was a small box. He opened it and pulled out a wad of bills. It was something he'd started doing a few years before. Every month, he had withdrawn a hundred dollars and used it for things like the occasional candy bar or extra coffee. Anything left over was put into the box. At the end of each year, he converted the money into a wide assortment of bills. His thought at the time was that he would use it for some big vacation.

It would be a vacation...of a sort.

He wasn't sure how much there was, but it would be enough for a while. He would also stop at an ATM and withdraw his max for the day. He could do that a couple more times in Ohio.

Would they block his credit cards once he got started? He didn't know, but he'd have to take that chance. He wouldn't want to use them often in any case. He knew how people's movements could be traced using credit cards. He'd done it often enough himself.

For just a moment, he stopped and wondered at himself. He was assuming that everything would work out in the worst way possible.

"How else could it happen?" he asked aloud. "Once they start, there's no way it can be good."

Nodding to himself, he went to his computer and composed an email and put a delay on the delivery. If he ended up being wrong, he could still cancel it before Monday.

Gibbs would never know.

That was the great thing about having permission to leave. No one would know if it turned out to be not as bad as he knew it was. And if he was right, no one would know until it was too late to stop him.

Then, he paused. This next step was probably important to take, but he hesitated. It would be irrevocable.

Then, he laughed.

"If I do this, I won't have a job anyway. I'll be in prison. What am I worrying about?" he said aloud.

He filled out the form, added a quick note to Vance and then put the same delay on it as he had the email to Gibbs.

Then, he sat motionless for a few minutes.

Maybe he was making a big mistake. He had to consider the possibility. Maybe this was the wrong way to go about it. Maybe he was making a bigger deal out of this than he needed to.

He thought about it, thought about the worst-case scenario. He even thought about the best-case scenario, given what he currently knew.

In the absence of any better information from his parents, he couldn't see that he was overreacting, and there was no way he could just stand by and hope for the best. He thought about something he'd said before.

" _And we say 'Better ten guilty men go free than one innocent get punished,' but I know from experience it doesn't always work out like that."_

And he was right about that, too. It didn't always work out like that. In fact, to Tim's mind, it didn't _ever_ work out like that, not when it came to a situation like this. So instead of secondguessing his decision (which Gibbs had told him not to do), Tim committed himself and left his apartment, hoping that he'd get back here at some point.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance was waiting for Gibbs to come and confront him about his meeting with Tim. He didn't know what Tim had decided to do, but he had told Tim that he'd support whatever he chose.

He just knew that Gibbs _would_ come and talk to him.

An hour later, he was proven right. Gibbs knocked and walked in without waiting.

"Gibbs, what can I do for you?"

"What did you meet with McGee about?" Gibbs asked.

"What did he tell you?"

"That it was classified Top Secret."

Vance was a little surprised. The details certainly _were_ Top Secret, not even he knew what they were, but the actual event was not. It would be in the news, sooner or later. Still, that told him what Tim had chosen. He didn't want Gibbs to know. That dictated Vance's response.

"And it is. You can't demand to know, Gibbs."

"Why read McGee in, then?"

"Because it was important enough that I felt he was the right choice, with or without your say." There. That was sufficiently vague and yet not a lie.

"How much time is this going to take?"

"I don't have the slightest idea, but it shouldn't interrupt your work, significantly."

Gibbs glared at him, and Vance smiled.

"Stare at me all you want. It doesn't change the classified nature of my meeting with Agent McGee. When I can tell you, I will. If that's all, I have work to do."

Gibbs turned and started to leave. He seemed resentful, which Vance could understand, but given the nature of what he'd told Tim, he didn't want him to have to struggle against Gibbs' misconception, too.

"Don't punish McGee for following orders, Agent Gibbs. He has done nothing to deserve that."

Gibbs didn't reply, but Vance knew that he'd listened.

After Gibbs was gone, he sat back in his chair and shook his head. Technically, he could get in trouble for telling Tim about this at all. It wasn't his place to do it, but the fact that Tim hadn't known... It would have been much worse if he had found out from ZNN or the newspaper.

Vance just hoped that this would help. Well, he could check in with Tim on Monday and find out how things were going.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim pulled into the driveway. It was late. He was tired, but he was also angry. The hours of driving by himself had only cemented that particular emotion, and by the time he arrived in Ohio, he was ready for battle.

He grabbed his duffle bag (but left his other stuff in the trunk). Then, he walked up to the front door, was a little surprised that it was still unlocked and then stormed inside. He slammed the door behind him and walked to the living room.

His parents were sitting together, there, and they both looked shocked to see him.

Naomi stood up.

"Tim...what on earth–?"

"How could you?" Tim asked, almost shouting. "How could you not tell me?"

It was to their credit that neither Sam nor Naomi pretended they didn't know what Tim was talking about.

"This wasn't something you needed to know, Tim," Sam said, almost sounding soothing.

Tim was even more angry.

"Not something I needed to know? How dare you!"

"Tim!" Naomi said, sharply. "Show some respect."

"I give respect where it's deserved," Tim shot back. "Finding out that my own parents didn't let me in on something so important is not deserving of respect! I'm part of this family, too!"

There was a brief silence. Just long enough for Tim to get his breath.

"When were you going to tell me that they're coming after you, again?" Tim asked Sam. "When were you going to tell me that you could go to prison...or worse? When?"

Sam and Naomi looked at each other in silence. Sam sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tim suddenly felt the anger drain out of him. He knew himself well enough to know that it would come back, but standing here, staring at his parents, he just couldn't stay mad at them.

"How could you?" he asked again, but this time, it was full of hurt, rather than anger.

Naomi could obviously tell. She walked over to him and, instead of answering, she just hugged him.

"How could you not tell me?" he asked, almost in a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Tim," Sam said, after a few seconds of silence.

Naomi coaxed Tim into the living room and urged him to sit down, so that he was on the same level as Sam.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, again. "I was hoping this would just go away. If I told you, it would only make you unnecessarily worried."

"Unnecessarily?" Tim repeated, incredulously.

"Yes. If it had worked out like I had hoped it would."

"But it hasn't."

"No. It hasn't."

"When were you going to tell me?" Tim asked.

"Believe it or not, your mother and I were just discussing when we should tell you and Sarah about it. We didn't want you to find out about the trial through the media."

"How _did_ you find out, Tim?" Naomi asked. "I know the media hasn't heard about it yet. The DoD is doing a pretty good job of keeping it hushed up, for now. They're not even arresting your father."

"Director Vance," Tim said, dully. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, choosing to stare at the floor rather than at his parents. "SecNav had asked him about whether or not I would be unduly influenced by my father's upcoming court-martial trial. Vance asked about it and was told that it was due to actions during your active service, that you could even be extradited to stand trial in Central America, if you weren't sentenced to death, here. He found out as much as he could and then told me about it, thinking that I must not know. He was right. I didn't. I was sitting in the office of the director of NCIS, learning that my father was going to become a scapegoat, that he was going to be betrayed by his country, and that he could be executed for it."

Naomi rested her hand on Tim's back.

"I'm sorry you learned about it that way, Tim. We never even considered the idea that people would think you might be compromised because of this."

"Vance doesn't think I am, but I am. I can't objective about it. Could you?"

"Why do you think we didn't tell you right away, Tim?" Sam said. "I knew how badly you could take it. In the beginning, it really didn't seem as serious as it does now. It's been thirty years! How could we have guessed that this would come up again?"

"Once it did, though, you should have let me know."

"Yes, we should have, and I'm sorry for that," Sam said.

"How long?"

"About three weeks," Naomi said.

Tim was angry that his parents had kept this from him for three weeks, but the hurt and the overwhelming fear of losing his father had taken up residence as his dominant emotions for the time being.

"The only person who knows right now, outside of the government is Fred," Sam said. "And I only told him in case I became unable to teach my courses."

"I didn't even tell Melissa," Naomi said.

Tim smiled a little. That was so like his parents.

"You told your boss, but not your best friend."

"Only the people who absolutely needed to know," Naomi said. "We're still hoping that this can be taken care of without publicity. The government certainly doesn't want any if they can avoid it. If they can't, it'll become a huge mess that I don't think they want to deal with."

"What about _you_?" Tim asked. "What are you willing to deal with?"

"If you think I'm going to roll over and let them use me to save face, Tim, don't think that," Sam said, with a bit of an edge to his voice. "Oscar Wilde said that 'a thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.' I'm not willing to die for a lie."

Tim smiled and a thought came to his mind. He wouldn't be telling his parents that he meant it for himself because they'd never accept what he was going to do.

"'Those things which are precious are saved only by sacrifice.' David Kenyon Webster."

As he had expected, Sam took that as a challenge, not in the sense Tim was thinking of it.

"Exactly. Reputation isn't precious to me. Elbert Hubbard. 'Many a man's reputation would not know his character if they met on the street.'"

This was a chance to have a quote war that he could remember once he left. Tim smiled again.

"'You can't build a reputation on what you are _going_ to do.' Henry Ford."

Sam smiled back. "'The greater the difficulty, the more glory in surmounting it. Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests.' Epicurus."

Tim had to think. Reputation quotes were not exactly things he had spent time reading.

"'Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.' Shakespeare."

"You're starting to struggle," Sam said.

"Your turn," Tim said.

"'At every word, a reputation dies.' Alexander Pope."

"Uh...Euripides. 'Along with success comes a reputation for wisdom.'"

"Ralph Waldo Emerson. 'The solar system has no anxiety about its reputation,'" Sam said, looking a little smug. Tim knew why. He was swiftly running out quotes.

"'Reputation is what men and women think of us; character is what God and angels know of us.' Thomas Paine," Tim said, wondering what God would think of what he was going to do.

"Good choice. I like Paine. 'I suppose it can be truthfully said that Hope is the only universal liar who never loses his reputation for veracity.' Robert Green Ingersoll."

"Uh..."

"Are you conceding?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Tim said. "I'll never understand how you can have so many quotes in your head on every single possible subject."

"I need to use up the space in my brain," Sam said. "You've already filled yours."

"So...did you come here just to yell at us?" Naomi asked.

"No. I took the weekend off. I told Gibbs that I'd be helping you with the bathroom."

Naomi smiled.

"Good. If you're willing, we're trying to keep up with as much of our regular life as we can."

"Yeah. I'll help you."

"Well...are you feeling any better?"

Tim shook his head. "No, but I don't want to yell at you anymore."

"That's a relief. How did your team take it?"

"I didn't tell them," Tim said. "Vance didn't have the whole story and I didn't want to have to deal with questions I couldn't answer. So I just told Gibbs that I needed the weekend off to help with the bathroom remodel."

Sam leaned forward and caught Tim's arm.

"Tim, I am going to fight this," he said, getting serious again.

"But will you win? Are they even going to give you a chance of winning?" Tim asked. It was a real question. If his father was confident about it, then, maybe what he'd planned wouldn't be necessary.

However, he saw it in Sam's eyes and in Naomi's eyes, as well. They _weren't_ confident.

"We're going to do our best," Naomi said. "One of my friends is going to represent him and if it goes to trial, he said that he'd make sure that we got a good military lawyer."

"So it _would_ be a military trial, then?" Tim asked.

"Yes. It's a court-martial. Even though I officially retired, I did collect benefits, and I can still be court-martialed."

That sick feeling welled up in Tim's stomach again. After everything his father had been through, everything Naomi had been through, by extension, to know that yet another obstacle was rising up in front of them made him ill.

"What kind?" he asked, even though Vance had already implied which one would be facing them.

"General," Naomi said.

They all knew what that meant. It was only in a general court-martial that death was a possible sentence, and while Sam had never been at liberty to discuss what had happened, they all knew that this was serious enough that death was a possible punishment if he was convicted.

"But it's really late. I'm sure you're tired, Tim," Sam said. "Let's go to bed and we can work on the bathroom tomorrow morning."

"Okay."

Tim wasn't really feeling tired, but he picked up his duffle bag and trudged up the stairs to his room. Naomi followed behind him.

"I know where the extra sheets are, Mom," Tim said. "You don't need to make up my bed."

"Yes, I do. You always do a terrible job of it. I can't help but wonder what your bed must look like in DC."

Tim laughed a little as he watched Naomi pull out the appropriate sheets and begin making his bed for him.

"Really, Mom. My bed looks fine there and it would be fine here, too. I can do it."

It was pointless to argue. His mother could be as stubborn as a mule when she'd made up her mind about something, even about something as silly as the sheets. He let her finish. Then, she turned around and looked at him.

"I didn't want to say this in front of your father, but you can't let the guilt you still feel for your father's paralysis color your perception of what's happening here. This was all years before your accident."

"That's not what it's about," Tim said, feeling the anger again. "It's that it's wrong, Mom! You know it. I know it. We all know what this is about, and it's not justice. It's not justice. It's not right. It's about reputation and saving face. Whatever spurred this, it has nothing to do with what's right."

"Of course, it doesn't," Naomi said. "We're not under any illusion that it's going to be easy."

"Or that you're likely going to lose?" Tim asked, probing to see just how seriously they were taking it.

"Or that we're likely going to lose if it gets that far," Naomi said, softly. "We know that. If this actually ends up in a general court-martial, the government will stack the tribunal with people who will do what they want. They hold all the cards. Your father doesn't have any evidence besides his word. From what little he told me, everyone in his unit died except for him. Whether that means that they all died in action or that they died later of their injuries, I don't know, but this was all so secret that no one knew about it...until it was over."

"But he could..."

"He won't give the details unless he's given permission to do so. He's not going to risk adding another charge on top of what they're already doing. Don't ask him. We are doing what we can."

"But it won't be enough, will it," Tim said.

"I don't know. I really _don't_ know, Tim," Naomi said. "All I know is that we're going to fight it. And we don't need to fight you, too."

That hurt.

"You don't need to fight me," he said, almost in a whisper.

No one could make him ashamed like his mother. She didn't even have to raise her voice. She never had to. In fact, she was one of the few people who could make him feel lower than the dust just by saying that she was disappointed in him.

Naomi walked over to him and put her hand on his cheek.

"I know you were speaking from fear and anger at being kept out of it, but you do not have the right to say we don't deserve your respect simply because we chose not to share with you right away. We would have, Tim. You know that we would have told you in good time. You can argue that we should have done it sooner. Maybe you're right, but what could you do? Nothing more than we've already been doing. We wanted to keep you from the worry I know you're feeling right now. We wanted to keep you from it because you and your father have been doing so much better the last couple of years. We were afraid that this would remove all of that because you would be afraid for him again."

Tim walked over to the bed and sat down on it, shifting the sheets around a little.

"I can't accept this, Mom," he said, trying to hide the quaver in his voice. "I can't face losing him again. I don't want to have to look him in the eye and know that he's really going to die this time."

Naomi sat down beside him and gave him a one-armed hug.

"This is nothing like when your dad was first paralyzed. He's not going to try to kill himself. He won't do that, and if it really does come down to a death sentence, it'll take a long time. He'll have an automatic appeal. But we don't think that they'll go that route."

Tim noticed, though, that Naomi was speaking like a conviction was almost a certainty. Everything he heard told him that it really was as serious as he'd thought it was. He would have to do what he had planned. There was no way he was going to leave it up to a military tribunal to be interested in finding the truth after thirty years.

"I love you, Tim. I'm glad you came for the weekend, even if it started off rough."

Tim hugged Naomi tightly and then stood up to get ready for bed. Naomi left him to it. He could probably just leave right away. There would be so much to do, so much to figure out, and all on his own, but at the same time, he wanted to be with his parents. It would be great if Sarah could be here, too, but it would take her some time to get here, even if his parents told her first thing in the morning. She was doing research at Cambridge for her Ph.D., and she wouldn't be able to get a flight back that quickly.

Maybe it was better that way, anyway. No extra person to avoid.

He could just go now.

But he'd help with the bathroom first.

A weekend reprieve before he crossed his own personal Rubicon. Caesar had known exactly what his actions would lead to when he took his army with him across that river. While he wasn't commanding an army, Tim knew that once he got started, he would have to be committed.

There would be no going back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tim woke up really early, after not being able to sleep for a few hours after going to bed. All in all, he wasn't feeling the greatest, but he knew he would have to get used to that. Unless things turned out perfectly (and how likely would that really be), he would be feeling terrible for a long time.

He got out of bed, showered quickly, and then, he headed downstairs.

"Tim, you don't look like you slept well," Naomi said, when he got into the kitchen.

"I didn't. What's for breakfast?"

"Pancakes, if you're interested."

"Absolutely," Tim said. "That sounds wonderful."

"Okay. Set the table, if you would."

"Sure."

Tim got the plates, glasses and utensils and set them out on the table, thinking about all the times he had done this very same chore as a child. He smiled to himself, remembering how he had struggled to keep the utensils straight, all the times Naomi had made him switch the forks and knives, even though he insisted that he didn't really use his knife, but he did use his fork and spoon, so the knife should be on the other side by itself, and why did he have to put all the knives on anyway when they didn't have anything to cut or to spread?

Then, Sam would quote at him, things he hadn't understood as a child, really, but still remembered.

"'Let thy child's first lesson be obedience, and the second may be what thou wilt.' Benjamin Franklin," Tim said softly, gently setting the fork on the correct side.

"What was that, Tim?"

"Just remembering," Tim said. "That's all."

He finished setting the table and walked over to the kitchen.

"Need anything else?"

"Yes. Go and tell your father to stop exercising and get in here. He has to make the syrup."

Tim grinned. "Okay."

He headed for the garage. Obviously, Sam couldn't go running, but he had kept his upper body as strong as possible. Tim could hear the ching of the weights on the bench press. He opened the door and saw Sam, sweating bullets, face red with the exertion, and he knew he'd never want to arm wrestle his dad.

"Dad?"

"Just a second," Sam said, breathlessly.

Tim waited as his dad did three more presses and then sat up.

"What is it?" he asked, breathing hard.

"Mom says that you need to stop exercising and come and make the syrup."

Sam laughed. "You know, it's really silly that she does this. The syrup isn't hard to make. Sugar, water and maple extract. What's the big deal?"

"It's your job, apparently."

"It appears so." Sam got a towel and wiped off his face. Then, he looked at Tim. "Feeling any better?"

"No. Are you?" Tim asked, almost challenging him.

Sam smiled and didn't take the challenge. "No. I haven't since day one, but I was never happy with the whole situation, so that's par for the course."

He hefted himself into his wheelchair and started into the kitchen. He paused when he got to Tim.

"I know you want to fix this, Tim, but you can't. It's just what you have to accept and deal with. We'll get through it, but you can't let yourself get angry about the injustice of it. That will only cloud your thinking."

"So you're saying that you're not angry?" Tim asked. He was pretty sure that he wouldn't believe it if Sam said he wasn't.

Sam smiled sadly. "Tim, I'm not going to feed your resentment, no matter who it's directed toward. Right now, I just want to go into the kitchen and make some syrup. Then, later, I want to coerce you into helping with the bathroom. I have enough of my life consumed by this. I refuse to let any more be."

Tim nodded, but inside, he was agreeing. Sam might not think he could do anything to help, but Tim knew better.

 _I won't let any more be than has to be,_ he said silently. He knew that Sam wouldn't want him to do what he was going to do, but there was nothing that would stop him, not now.

They went into the kitchen, and Sam got to work on the syrup. Naomi was starting to make the pancakes.

"Anything else I can do?" Tim asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"No. Sit at the table," Naomi said. "Don't forget the butter."

"Got it."

In just a few minutes, breakfast was ready. They ate together and determinedly kept the topics light and easy, avoiding the elephant in the room. After breakfast, Naomi said that they couldn't start work until Sam at least took the time to make himself less sweaty and stinky. He said that, if they were going to work, there was no need to shower, first. Naomi disagreed and tried to push him out of the kitchen. Finally, he relented.

It was all a little forced, but there was real humor and playfulness attached to it.

Then, it was off to the guest bathroom. Even though the house itself wasn't huge, it still had three bathrooms: one upstairs that Tim and Sarah had shared, one in his parents' bedroom and the smallest one for guests. Originally, it had been only a half bath, but they had taken the time to put in a shower, just for when family came to stay. Sam's bathroom was completely wheelchair accessible and, while Naomi was used to it, it did throw others off. Besides, going through the master bedroom to get to the bathroom was a little weird.

But it was time to do some remodeling. So they were replacing the vanity, the tile, the toilet and were re-tiling the shower. Tim wasn't very good at this stuff, but he could do the basics, and both Naomi and Sam had some experience.

Tim and Naomi took the toilet out to the garage. Tim (under Sam's watchful eye) disconnected the water pipes for the vanity and then, they carefully pulled it out and took it to the garage as well. Then, it was time to take up the tile. It was a fairly small space which meant that there was only room for one person to be working on the tile at once.

That person was Tim. He took the sledgehammer and began pounding away at the chipped and cracked tiles. As he swung it, he imagined the people who were behind this attack on his father. He had no idea who they were (yet), but that didn't stop him from imagining the satisfaction of pounding their faces for what they were doing.

"Okay, Tim. I think you've punished the tiles enough," Sam said. "They're sorry and they won't do it again."

Tim straightened and smiled.

"I think I still see some belligerence," he said.

"Then, let's move to the prybar and hammer, okay?"

"Sure."

"I'll start on that," Naomi said. "You take a break."

Tim backed out and let her kneel on the floor and start prying up the tile in the places where bits had stuck. Tim stood and watched for a few minutes and then took Naomi's place when she went for a broom. They got the tile off the floor and out of the shower. Then, they could clean up and start thinking about reconstruction. Paint was the first task, but they hadn't bought it yet.

"If we're going to get as much of this done while you're here as we can, we'd better start the paint today," Naomi said. "Will you trust me to get the right color?"

"As long as you take the paint chips we decided on with you," Sam said.

"Yes, sir," Naomi said. "Be good while I'm gone."

"We'll try," Sam said.

Then, Naomi headed off to the store, leaving Tim and Sam to wait for her.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Naomi took her time going to the paint store. She was hoping that Sam could help Tim calm down about the whole situation. She knew that she would be no good at it because it infuriated her. Every time they had talked about it, the discussion had eventually devolved to a rant about how unfair and unjust this was. Since that was what Tim's argument was, Naomi knew that they would only feed on each other's fury.

Besides that, she knew that Tim needed the time with Sam to see that he wasn't just going to disappear. Over and over, Naomi wished that the car accident had never happened. Of course, no one ever wanted their family experiencing serious injury, but Sam's paralysis had led to more than just physical debility. Both Sam and Tim had experienced emotional injury, and Tim's emotional injury had been a double-hit with Sam's near suicide afterward. He really had never quite recovered from the trauma of catching Sam ready to kill himself, even with the time they'd had him going to a psychiatrist. It meant that Tim had become afraid of losing Sam at every moment.

It had taken _years_ for Tim to overcome his lingering guilt about Sam's health, and he still hadn't really managed to get over his fear of losing his dad. Naomi didn't want to see Tim become too obsessed with the coming trial. What she hoped was that doing something simple and normal would give Tim the chance to come to terms with everything.

It hadn't worked yet, but Naomi was hoping that the weekend could overcome the shock Tim had been given by learning about the charges, especially in a such an impersonal way as hearing it from his boss.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim started patching the sheetrock, filling in holes with mud that they would sand down before they put up the tile.

After Naomi left an awkward silence had fallen. Tim was standing on a stool, and Sam was watching him.

Tim glanced down at Sam once and saw his inquisitive expression.

"What, Dad?"

"That's what I'd like to ask you. That's the first time you've come even close to making eye contact with me since this morning."

"Nothing to say," Tim said and turned back to the wall.

Sam knew that was a lie. Tim was full to bursting with things to say, but he wasn't saying them.

"Are you sure?"

Tim wouldn't look at him. "Dr. Laurence Peter. 'Speak when you're angry and you'll make the best speech you'll ever regret.'"

"Emerson. 'Speech is power. Speech is to persuade, to convert, to compel.'"

Abruptly, Tim abandoned the quotes and turned to Sam. Instead of looking angry, though, he looked distressed.

"Is this where I'm supposed to pretend that everything is going to be okay? Is this where I'm supposed to pretend that I'm not..." He stopped for a just a second and took a quick breath. "...that I'm not terrified of losing my father? I can't look you in the eye and pretend that, Dad. I can't. I know how bad this can be. I know what the military is like when they're trying to save face. I've seen it too many times." He got off the stool and sat on it, choosing to stare at his hands instead of at his father. "I'm sorry, Dad, but I can't do it. If you're going to force me to talk, I can't pretend that this won't tear me apart...because I'll have to act like I think it's going to work out, and I can't see how that is possible. If they're willing to go after you at all, they're willing to go all the way...whoever _they_ are. I just...I'm sorry. I know it makes this harder for you to know what I'm feeling. I just can't hide it."

Sam rolled over to Tim and pushed his shoulders enough to make his son look at him. He had known that this would likely be Tim's reaction and he hated that he couldn't fix it.

"You don't have to hide it, Tim. I know how you feel about this, about what could happen to me. What you need to realize is that it doesn't have to end badly. We have help working this out. There is a chance that we can win this, ideally without ever stepping foot in a courtroom."

"A chance."

Sam knew that a chance wasn't good enough for Tim. He wouldn't rest easy on a chance.

"Yes, a chance. There are no guarantees in life, Tim. There never have been and there never will be. The only guarantee is that we're all going to die at some point. When and how is not guaranteed."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize, Tim. Not for caring. Just don't let your caring turn into something more than you can handle."

Tim actually smiled a little, although he still wouldn't look Sam directly in the eye. To Sam's surprise he leaned over and hugged him.

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too. That's why I'm fighting and why I'm not going to give up. I have too much to live for."

"I know you do," Tim said. "I know."

After a few seconds, Tim pulled back and stood.

"If I'm not done with this by the time Mom gets back, she'll say I wasn't working hard enough."

"It doesn't matter. We aren't going to get the whole bathroom done this weekend, anyway," Sam said. "What you're patching will need to dry overnight, and that's mostly above the shower. We can paint a couple of the walls today, but the best we'll be able to do tomorrow is lay the tile on the floor and finish the painting. We won't be able to tile the shower. That's for sure."

"We'll get done what we can, though. While I'm here."

"You can come any time you want to...as long as you can get work off."

Tim actually winced a little, and Sam wondered if his son had been lectured about this impromptu trip up to Ohio. Or maybe it was the thought of having to explain to his boss the reason why he wanted to be gone. Regardless, while he knew that Tim would be hard-pressed to keep his own worries completely hidden, having family around was always a bonus.

However, he could see that Tim didn't want to talk about that, so he let him avoid it.

By the time Naomi got back, Tim had patched the walls. She told them that she had made an executive decision and it was out in the car. That meant they had to go out and look at it.

She opened the back door of the car.

"Voila!"

Sam leaned in to look.

"Naomi...dearest...we already picked the tile. Both for the floor _and_ the shower."

"Look closer, Sam," Naomi said, smiling. "What we picked for the floor and the shower is fine, but it lacks life."

"It's tile, Mom. It's not alive," Tim said.

"Oh, stop being so prosaic, Tim. This is going to be an accent tile, not the main stuff. I talked to the tile guy and he said we could easily add a strip of it vertically in the shower and use it as a border on the rest of the tile."

"That's a lot more complicated than we were going to do," Sam said.

"Not really. It's mosaic tile. It'll be easy to trim down and it just means more grout. We were going to have to do cuts anyway."

"You're insane," Sam said, but he laughed. "I think you've managed to scare our son away from helping us beyond this weekend."

Tim smiled. "Maybe so."

"Well, then, I'll let you unload it."

Sam just laughed. "Then, you can go and inspect Tim's work while he's lugging the tile inside."

Sam watched as Tim unloaded the car without any further comment. He knew that Tim hadn't forgotten. He had a hard time letting go of anything, good or bad. Sam worried that Tim might do something reckless. So far, he couldn't see that Tim had that in mind, but he didn't want it to happen.

Naomi declared Tim's work to be good enough to pass muster. They painted two of the walls and then spent the rest of the afternoon working on how they'd lay out the tile in the shower and on the floor with the new mosaic Naomi had chosen.

Then, they had dinner and Tim declared that he was tired and wanted to go to bed early. Naomi and Sam let him go, but they themselves stayed up later to talk more, both about the upcoming trial and about when to tell Sarah, now that Tim knew.

...but Tim wasn't sleeping, either.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Tim stayed up late into the night, trying to decide what he was going to do, first. He didn't dare start hacking from here. That would only cast suspicion on his parents and he didn't want that.

Of course, he didn't want to be caught hacking at all, but if he _was_ caught, he wanted it to be away from his parents which would mean that they couldn't be blamed for it.

What he could see was that it was vitally important to know exactly what the charges were going to be and what had happened. Since Sam was unwilling to share (and Tim was unwilling to press him for it), he would have to see if he could piece it together from Sam's military file. Once he had an idea of that, he could start trying to find out who had brought the charges and who it was that had been to blame in the original event.

Tim was taking it for granted that, no matter what the situation had been, his father had been innocent.

He didn't have very many memories of his father as he had been in the military. He remembered that they had moved a lot which Tim hadn't liked. He remembered that Sam had been more distant from him, more short-tempered, more demanding. They hadn't spent much time together and, sometimes, Sam had seemed more like a distant uncle than a father. Tim also remembered that he had felt a little bit guilty when he had been happy that his father was leaving the Navy. It had turned Sam into a person who was around all the time and who spent time with him and who laughed and was happy. But it was clear that all was not well with his dad and that bad things had happened.

That made Tim pause in his recollection. Had he really thought that? Sam had always spoken of his time in the military as a positive experience, but as Tim thought back, he had to agree with the passing thought. At least, at the end of his service, Sam had not been happy. He had been unhappy, perhaps even angry. Tim couldn't be sure of that part, and certainly, Sam wouldn't be open to discussing it. Maybe Tim could put out some discrete feelers to his dad's old Navy buddies. They used to be at the house all the time in the first few years after Sam's retirement. But once they had moved to Ohio, that had changed, and Sam had new friends, academic friends. However, Tim also knew that they still exchanged Christmas cards with some of them. So that might still be an option.

The biggest problem was going to be figuring out what to do _after_ he found everything he needed to find. Because it would be found using less-than-legal means, it might end up being difficult to share that information.

He'd find a way, though. Tim considered what he'd do about that. Threats? Maybe, although Tim didn't consider himself to be very good at that kind of thing. What he knew, he knew, and it was hard to use information to twist someone's arm. Any attempt of that would likely blow up in his face or else leave the person he was threatening laughing at him.

 _Maybe I should tell Gibbs about this, bring him into it, not try to do it on my own. It's not like it would be the first time the team ever did something basically illegal for personal reasons._

But at the same time, Tim couldn't bring himself to do that. It seemed wrong, somehow. It was always Gibbs' personal reasons that pulled them in. It had been Ziva's, at times, before she left. And it had always put them in danger, either for their jobs or their lives. Their personal problems had never stayed personal and had always spilled over onto the rest of the team. It was never Tim who did that. He didn't bring his personal life into work. The only time he'd ever made something personal was when a case they were already working on had ended up involving his family. He'd always tried to keep that stuff away. It wasn't right to use the job to help himself. Not like that. He couldn't be the cause of Tony and Gibbs losing their jobs. He wouldn't do that to them, and he wouldn't allow that to come down on his head.

 _I've already taken steps to separate myself from NCIS. I can't bring them into it, not and keep any self-respect. What I'm going to be doing would tarnish NCIS and I won't do that. Gibbs'll be mad at me, but I'd hate myself more if I asked him for help than he would if I don't._

Throughout the night, Tim made lists. He tried to come up with ideas for how he'd proceed. Around two in the morning, he snuck down the stairs to the study. He turned on a single lamp and pulled the family photo albums off the shelf. Then, he settled in a chair and started to look through the earliest photos of his parents together.

He smiled as he saw his parents' wedding day. Sam was in his uniform. Naomi was in a simple white gown.

Sam was standing.

Tim tried to ignore the twinge that thought gave him.

Then, he started to flip forward, making notes of the military people that were familiar enough to show up in photos. He also paid attention to when his dad had started seeming to be less happy. Based only on static pictures, it had only really begun about a year before everything had fallen apart.

That made sense to the adult Tim. After all, if this was a top-secret mission, as Tim knew it had been, then, there would be a lot of training and prep time required.

As he looked through, he noticed a new face. A military buddy who only showed up in pictures for that year and then about six months after, basically until Sam had fully retired from the Navy. And never again after that. So was this a real friend or was it just a fellow Navy man Sam had been working with?

Tim looked at the photos. Most of them didn't label the man, but there was one photo of just Sam and this stranger. They were standing together, both in full dress uniform. They were smiling, but there was a sternness to their positions that said this was not a casual photograph. It looked like something official. Under the photograph was a label. _New Navy commanders: Sam McGee and Charlie Leadore._

Charlie Leadore. That was a name that meant nothing to Tim. He couldn't even pretend that he knew who that might be. Apparently, they'd both been promoted at the same time. Tim hadn't realized that Sam's final promotion had come just in that year before that final mission. Commanders could be in charge of ships, serve as advisors, or even lead small forces ashore. There was probably some significance to that rank at that particular time.

Would this Charlie Leadore matter? Maybe. Maybe not, but he wrote the name down, intent on finding out. While he might not be as militant as Gibbs was about not believing in coincidences, the timing of his entrance into the lives of the McGees and his departure seemed significant. If he _was_ involved, it was also important that he was alive after the mission was over because he was still in a couple of photos, including one where Sam was still in the hospital, recovering from his injuries.

Tim looked at the photo, carefully. Charlie didn't seem to be injured at all, and he was sitting beside Sam, looking concerned. Sam seemed happy to see him. All these things indicated a basic friendship, at least, but then, he was gone. Not even Christmas cards. Maybe that meant he had died. It was possible, but Tim couldn't help wondering.

He'd definitely look that name up when he got started.

He continued his survey, and he paused again on what looked like a backyard barbecue. Tim himself had only been seven at the time. Then, he saw a photo that someone else must have taken. It was a shot of a backyard. There were a lot of people, most of them looking like they were having fun. Tim found himself with other kids, completely oblivious to anything but a water balloon.

And Naomi was sitting beside a woman Tim didn't recognize, and she was crying. The woman had an arm around her shoulders and she was gesturing.

Curious, Tim tried to follow her gesture to see to whom it had been directed. Then, he saw Sam. He had a fading smile on his face and the photographer had caught him in a half turn away from a group and toward Naomi. Charlie was there, too. He had his hand out toward Sam, as if he had just nudged him or something like that.

Tim searched around to find the date.

It was the same month as Sam's mysterious mission. This must have been right before his departure. Maybe it was even a going-away party of some kind. Tim wished that he could push play on this photo and see what happened next, but in this time, still many years before digital cameras, most people were a lot more stingy with the pictures they took. In the case of this party, there was only the one picture and clearly, no one in the McGee family had taken it. The next photo was of Tim's birthday party and then, it was Sam in the hospital, patches over his eyes, although one wasn't covering the whole eye. He had burns on his face, stitches on his head, bandages on his arms...and a wide smile on his face as he received a hug from Tim. The label was simple: _Sam, back home at last_.

Tim hadn't remembered it being so bad, but then, again, he'd been so young and his memories were mostly centered around Sam being home more often. He sat back and thought, trying to bring up a memory of that time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

" _Is Daddy sick?"_

" _He's hurt, Tim," Naomi said. "You're going to have to be gentle, okay?"_

" _Can I touch him?"_

" _Yes, but softly."_

 _Tim was quiet for a moment, but then, he looked up again, earnestly._

" _Does that mean he's dying?"_

" _No! It doesn't. Why would you think that?"_

" _You said I had to be soft when we went to see grandma. She was dying."_

" _It's not about whether or not someone is dying, Tim. It's about how much it will hurt. Your dad is going to get better, but right now, he's hurt and so you need to be careful."_

 _Tim nodded, but the closer they got to the hospital room, the more nervous he was. This was his dad, but would he even know who his dad was? It had been such a long time that he'd been gone. It felt like years._

 _At the door, he pulled back a little and Naomi knelt down in front of him._

" _Are you scared, Tim?"_

 _He nodded._

" _You don't have to be."_

" _Will I know him?"_

 _Naomi winced a little but nodded firmly. "Of course. He's your father."_

" _Will Daddy know who I am?"_

" _Of course, he will."_

" _He was gone a long time and you said he was hurt bad."_

 _Now, Naomi smiled and hugged him tightly._

" _Daddy will never forget you, Tim. Not ever. He's your dad and he won't ever forget who you are. He loves you."_

" _Okay."_

 _They went into the room, and Tim was scared at the sight of this man who was supposed to be his dad. He was sure they were in the wrong place._

 _...until he heard his dad's voice. He knew that voice._

" _Naomi? Is that you? The sunglasses they've given me are too thick."_

 _Naomi pulled Tim over to the bed and he watched as she hugged Sam and kissed him gently on the forehead._

" _It's me, Sam. I've been needing to hear a quote from you for months."_

" _A quote? I don't know if I can think of one. Can you give me a topic to get me started?"_

 _Tim didn't know where it came from, but he suddenly thought of a quote to say._

"' _But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart.'"_

 _Sam straightened._

" _Tim? Is that you taking over my job?"_

" _I can't remember who said it," Tim said, softly._

" _Antoine de Saint-Exupery. He wrote_ The Little Prince _."_

" _Oh."_

" _That's a good one, but I can't have my little boy showing me up. Let me think." Sam leaned back. "Ah, I have one. 'An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.' Mahatma Gandhi."_

" _Good, Sam," Naomi said._

" _Are you going to be okay, Daddy?" Tim asked, still afraid._

 _Sam turned toward him._

" _Absolutely, Tim. Come here."_

 _Tim looked up at Naomi nervously, but she smiled and gestured for him to approach the bed. Tim walked to the bed and reached out to touch his dad's hand._

 _Before he knew it, he was being pulled up onto the bed by hands stronger than he thought possible, and he was being hugged tightly. He hugged Sam back. Yes, this was his dad. He knew him._

" _I'm glad you're home, Daddy. Don't go away, again."_

" _I won't, son. I'm home for good."_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sam woke up early and lay in bed for a few minutes, staring at the dark ceiling above him. There was always a moment when he first awakened that he could believe that he'd be able to swing his legs over and jump to his feet. It had been twenty years since the accident that had paralyzed him, but he hadn't lost the desire to walk, to feel his legs, to be fully upright. Thankfully, he had overcome the anguish that the feeling used to give him. Just as he had overcome the regret he'd felt at losing some of his eyesight, he had been able to live a happy life within his limits. Sometimes, he could even forget the limits existed and he could just be who he was without worrying about who he might have been if things had been different.

When he let himself think about it too much, it nearly killed him to think of losing the life he'd made after two nearly-fatal events. He hoped he could get through it successfully, but he had always felt this looming over him. Tim was overt about how upset he was, but Sam understood even if he refused to contribute to it. He'd spent years living as a civilian, being just a professor in a wheelchair. He'd been happy, but he'd known that this could come up again and again. Secrets had a way of being found out. Obviously, someone had discovered the mission and decided that someone needed to be punished. There weren't any options except for Sam himself. The four members of his unit who had survived to get back to the States had died before the month was out. The mission would have been a failure regardless, but it had ended too many lives. ...and all for what? Nothing. In reality, they had died for nothing and that was the worst part.

 _I'm the only one left. Who else will they blame? Certainly not the people giving the orders, whoever they were._

With a sigh, Sam pulled himself up and into his chair, but he tried to keep quiet. Sometimes, he couldn't make the transition from bed to chair without disturbing Naomi no matter how hard he tried. Not so, this morning. He knew that Naomi hadn't slept well and she didn't even stir. Sam went into the bathroom, got his exercise clothes on and wheeled out as quietly as he could. As he headed for the garage, he noticed a light in the study. Was Tim up already?

He wheeled over to the doorway and looked in. There were four or five photo albums on the floor and Tim was snoring in the chair with another album slowly sliding down his lap on its way to the floor.

What in the world had made Tim want to reminisce in the middle of the night?

Putting aside exercise for the moment, Sam rolled into the study and picked up a piece of paper from the floor. He saw some names he hadn't thought of in years. Suddenly, he tracked in on a single name.

Charlie Leadore.

Why was Tim writing Charlie Leadore's name? How had he even–?

Then, he saw the picture open on Tim's lap, and he couldn't help but smile at the memory it evoked, even as he felt a pang.

He and Charlie when they had been promoted to Commander. He still remembered the picture. They had both put on their best military solemn expressions but it had taken about ten tries to keep from laughing. He had to admit that Naomi had done a good job making them looking official. If he remembered correctly, there had been some extreme silliness right after they had achieved success.

 _Ah, Charlie,_ he thought with a sigh.

Then, the album slid to the floor and Tim sat up, startled by the sound. He looked around for a few seconds and then fully awakened and saw Sam. He seemed to almost look guilty about being caught as if he'd been looking at something much more sinister than old family photos.

"Oh...I fell asleep."

"Reminiscing, Tim?" Sam asked, gesturing to the albums.

"Yeah. I guess so."

Tim looked at the paper in Sam was holding and there was a different expression on his face. It wasn't guilt. Worry, maybe? But why?

"What's this for?" Sam asked, holding out the paper.

Tim took it and looked at the list.

"I was just...there are a lot of people in these old photos who aren't around anymore. I was just...wondering who some of them were. Like..." Tim bent down and picked up the album.

Sam wished that Tim would have asked about anyone else but Charlie, but here was the photo.

"Who's Charlie?" Tim asked. "It's like he showed up out of nowhere and then vanished about six months after you got hurt. Were you friends?"

Sam forced a smile and tried to focus on the happy memories.

"Yeah, we were. We went through the whole NROTC together."

"Really?"

"Yeah. No pictures because it was when I was at college and neither of us were really big on taking photos." _And I threw away some of them in the aftermath._

"So what happened?" Tim asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he doesn't show up in _any_ pictures until you were both promoted."

"Oh." It was a relief to talk about something so innocuous. "It's simple. When we finished college, we ended up going to different places, and we lost touch. It's so easy to do, especially when I got married and he was still single. Your focus changes when you get married. Then, later, we were both transferred to the same base and we got our promotions at the same time. It was really easy to slip back into being friends. Charlie was always the life of the party, friends with _everyone_. I'm lucky he never went after your mother."

Tim smiled but then got that solemn look he always got when he was afraid that he was asking a painful question.

"So...did he...die?"

"No. Or at least, not that I know of. He was transferred and I retired. It's like some of my other buddies from the military. There's no real intention of separation. It just happens."

And that was probably the first outright lie Sam had told his son since his aborted attempt at suicide. ...and he felt almost as guilty about it, but getting into his lost friendship with Charlie would lead to things Sam just didn't want to think about. If Charlie ever randomly showed up at the house, even thirty years later, Naomi would probably want to kill him, and Sam would seriously consider a solid punch to the gut.

"Oh." Tim looked at his list of names and seemed to clue into the fact that Sam wasn't in the mood to talk about it.

Sam did regret shutting down a conversation he probably would have enjoyed in other circumstances, but right now, it was just too hard to think about Charlie and what he had done to them.

"I didn't plan on falling asleep in here," Tim said. He shoved the list into his pocket and started picking up the photo albums.

A photo slipped out of the album and fell to the floor. Sam put on his brakes and bent over to get it.

"Tim, you missed one..."

His voice trailed off as he looked at the photo. Why had Naomi kept this? What had possessed her to not only keep it but display it, even just in a photo album? Sam had forgotten that Charlie was at that party, although he should have known that he would be. They had been close.

Tim walked back over and saw what it was. To his credit, he didn't try to pretend that he didn't see it.

"Mom doesn't look very happy," he said, needlessly.

"She wasn't."

"What happened after this was taken?"

"I went over and talked to her for a little bit. She got herself in control again and we stayed for the rest of the party. I shipped out the next morning."

"I was almost seven."

"Yeah. You were."

They both knew what that meant. Sam knew that Tim was fully aware of what this led to, even if he didn't know the details and could never know them.

He handed the photo to Tim.

"You know your mother hates losing pictures. You'd better put this back where it goes. I'm going to get my exercises done."

Tim nodded and did as Sam asked.

Sam rolled into the garage and let out the sigh.

 _Was_ Charlie still alive? If so, would they pull him out of the woodwork, too? _He_ wouldn't be blamed, but he'd probably give testimony as he had been willing to do before.

Instead of letting his helpless anger fester, Sam leaned over and put a couple of extra weights on before he started his lifts. Better to get it out through a workout than to dwell on something so far in the past.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As soon as Sam was gone, Tim let out a sigh of relief. That had been close. If his dad had started asking more pressing questions about why Tim was looking through the albums and why he'd made a list of old Navy buddies, Tim wasn't sure he'd have been able to keep his secret, and it was only one more day before he'd put his plan in motion.

He put everything away and hurried upstairs to get ready for the day before Naomi could catch him downstairs, too.

The rest of the day was relatively uneventful. They painted a couple of walls of the bathroom, got the cement board down and then decided to leave the rest for another time. Tim didn't know what his parents were thinking, but _he_ was thinking that he could only _hope_ there was another time when he could help them with the bathroom.

One last evening meal and then, Tim was just ready to be on his way, but he had to wait until his parents were asleep. He also couldn't bear to leave without saying goodbye. Who knew where this journey would take him? He didn't even know if he'd be able to see them again. For all he knew, he could end up in prison because he already knew that he'd have to hack into secure military files. That was a serious offense, but he was ready to pay the price. He was only going to hide until he'd found what he needed. Then, he would admit what he'd done and agree to pay whatever penalty was required of him.

Knowing how his parents would feel about what he was going to do, knowing how angry and how worried they'd be, Tim wanted to make sure they understood where he was coming from, that they knew how he felt.

Before he went up to bed, he walked into the living room where his parents were sitting together.

"Tim, I thought you'd gone to bed already," Naomi said.

"I'm on my way," Tim said, lying through his teeth.

"What is it?"

He walked over and hugged his mother tightly and then hugged his father just as tightly.

"Hey, not that I'm complaining, but what's brought this on, Tim?" Sam asked.

"I'm sorry for the way I came here. I know that I said some things that I shouldn't have said. I don't want to go without apologizing for that. It was wrong. I love you so much."

"Chanakya said, 'In this world, whose family is without blemish?'" Sam said. "None of us are perfect. I don't doubt how you feel, Tim."

"We're just glad you came," Naomi said.

"Thanks."

Tim hugged them both one more time and then went up to his room. He sat down, pulled out a piece of paper and started writing one final message. His parents knew that he loved them, and they'd know why he had decided to do what he was going to do.

He finished his letter and was about to fold it up when he had a sudden thought. It gave him both a desire to smile and real pang. He wrote one final phrase and then folded the letter and settled down to wait.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

It was Monday and Gibbs strode into the bullpen before anyone else was there. He was still irritated about Vance co-opting Tim, but Tim would be back today and he could see if Tim would share anything else. It was wrong that one of his agents was being forced to keep secrets. It hadn't worked out so well for Tony, and he couldn't see it working out well for Tim, either.

While waiting for Tim's arrival, he sat down at his computer and checked his email.

He was surprised to see an email from Tim.

He opened it.

 _Boss,_

 _I lied to you today._

Here, Gibbs paused. He was just getting this email, now. He looked at the time stamp and saw that it had been sent on Friday. How had Tim done that? Was it possible to delay sending an email? He supposed that it was, and if it was, Tim would be the one who would know how. Dismissing that as unimportant, he went back to the email.

 _I've already sent my resignation to Director Vance. I should have told you, but I didn't want to have to justify myself and what I'm going to do be doing is something I couldn't do while working for NCIS. I won't tell you exactly what I'm doing, but it's sure to end up being illegal, and if I get caught, I'll be going to prison, maybe for the rest of my life. But it's worth it to me. It's worth it for my family. When Sarah was accused of murder, I was willing to quit just to support her. Now, I am quitting to save my family._

 _I know that you'll instantly have Abby trying to track me down, but I've already taken steps to prevent that. I think that I've done it well enough, but I'll admit that Abby might be able to get around what I've done. I was working pretty quickly. Don't bother with tracing my phone. I'm not using it._

 _I'm sorry that I had to lie to you, and I'm sorry that you'll be angry with me for going off on my own, but at least, I'm doing it for the right reason and I'm not going to tarnish NCIS. Only myself and that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. There aren't many things that could take me away from NCIS, but my family can._

 _Tim_

Gibbs got to his feet and was about to run up the stairs to Vance's office when Tony came in.

"Ha! I knew I'd beat McGee in," he said, triumphantly.

"He's not coming in," Gibbs said seriously.

Tony instantly shifted to solemn.

"What's up, Boss?"

Gibbs gestured to the email on his screen. Tony came over and read it and then looked up at Gibbs in shock.

"He quit? He can't quit! Why? What does he mean that he's doing it for his family?"

"With me," Gibbs said.

"On your six, Boss," Tony said.

They both ran up to the balcony and then into Vance's office. Actually, Vance was just opening his office door as they got there.

"Gibbs," he said in surprise. "I was just coming down to talk to you."

"What did you do to McGee on Friday?"

"What did I _do_?"

"He sent me an email saying that he quit because he didn't want to tarnish NCIS and something was going on with his family."

Vance sighed and gestured for them to follow him into his office.

"Sit down, Gibbs."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't do _anything_. Sit down!"

Gibbs sat down, seething. Tony followed suit.

"What's going on, Director?"

"I gave Agent McGee some bad news on Friday and I gave him the option of not telling you if he didn't want to. Clearly, he didn't. I had no idea he was planning on quitting until I got an email from him this morning. He told me that he was quitting to save NCIS from what he was going to do."

"What happened?" Tony asked.

"SecNav contacted me and told me about some pending charges."

"Against McGee?" Tony asked, incredulously. "That's ridiculous!"

"Not against McGee. Against his father."

Tony's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why would the military go after his dad? He's an English professor, isn't he?"

"And former special ops commander for the Navy."

"Oh. I didn't know about that. Did McGee know about that?"

"I couldn't say, but I would guess that he did."

"So what happened?"

"The operation in question is Top Secret. I don't know what it was, but I know that it ended badly, that Agent McGee's father is the only one who survived and that his retirement was basically a compromise to avoid any punishment or press on it. Now, someone is going after whoever was responsible and that is going to be Samuel McGee."

"How long ago was this?" Gibbs asked.

"Thirty years."

"And it's just coming up now?"

"You know how these things can work. If it makes sense politically, that's all that matters," Vance said. "SecNav was worried that Agent McGee might be adversely affected by the trial when it happens. I wasn't worried about that, but I wanted to make sure that Agent McGee knew about it. He hadn't been told until I told him. It was a shock and I said that I'd support him in whatever way I could."

"And so there's no secret mission?" Tony asked.

"Apparently, there is for McGee, but not at my instigation."

Gibbs stood up, ready to go and see what he could do to find Tim.

"Gibbs."

He turned back.

"At this point, to anyone's knowledge, Agent McGee has committed no crime. His father's trial has nothing to do with NCIS. I cannot condone any investigation into Samuel McGee's past or into Agent McGee's present. He quit, sent in the form to HR, copied to me, and said that he would be willing to have his last paycheck cut to make up for the lack of two weeks' notice. Unless he commits a crime in NCIS' purview, he has nothing to do with NCIS. I understand that you're worried about him, but you cannot use NCIS resources."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "That's your official word?"

"It has to be and you know it," Vance said, seriously.

Gibbs nodded. He did know it, but he also knew that Vance would turn a blind eye as long as they weren't blatant about it. That meant not delving into Sam's history because a Top Secret classification level meant that _any_ probing would be blatant, but that didn't mean they couldn't try to find out where Tim had gone.

"If that's all, then, you can get back to work."

Gibbs nodded once more, stood and left the office, Tony on his heels. They headed for the elevator. It took only seconds to get to his office.

"Why wouldn't McGee tell us about this?" Tony asked. "It's not like we haven't dealt with personal things before."

"He doesn't want to bring his family into his work. Never has. You know that."

It was true. The one time that someone in Tim's family had been the focus of a case (Sarah), Tim had tried to deal with it on his own, first. It was only with reluctance that he had brought NCIS into it. Family was separate from work and family _always_ took precedence. He hadn't even told them a lot about his family until he'd been working at NCIS for a few years, and clearly, he hadn't told them even close to everything.

"This could be really bad, Boss," Tony said. "If McGee is talking about not tarnishing NCIS, that means he's going to be doing something that could get him in a _lot_ of trouble. We can't just let him do that on his own!"

"Can't be official."

"Yeah, I know that, but we have to do something. He said that Abby can't trace him, but is that really true?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "You think McGee would lie about that when he knows I'll ask her?"

Tony grimaced and shook his head.

"We'll figure something out, but it has to be quietly. At this level, things can go bad pretty fast."

Tony nodded. "We should talk to his parents. Did he really even go to Ohio? If not, should we tell them what he's doing?"

That was a hard question to answer.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Naomi woke up and heard Sam heading into the garage to exercise. He hadn't really been so devoted before all this had started, but he hadn't missed a single day since they'd been told about the pending charges. It was as if he felt that physical strength would make up for what he couldn't deal with legally.

She got out of bed and looked upstairs. There was no sign of movement up there. Sam would have to go to work, and Tim should have probably gone back to DC last night, but he had said nothing about it. He'd just gone to bed. Well, he shouldn't put that off. He still had a job to do and it wouldn't be good if he started slacking off because of family problems.

Naomi walked up the stairs without much rushing and knocked on Tim's bedroom door.

No response.

"Tim? Are you making up for two bad nights?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light, knowing that Tim likely wouldn't sleep well until all this was over.

No response.

She opened the door and was surprised to see that it was empty.

Completely empty. The bed had been stripped with the used sheets in a neat pile and the blanket folded. Tim's clothes were gone as was his bag. He'd left.

During the night, though? That was strange.

Then, she saw the folded paper propped up on the dresser. Naomi picked it up and turned it over.

 _Mom and Dad_

That was all that was written on the outside. Even without reading it, Naomi was starting to get a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Why would Tim have written a note to them and left it without telling them he was going?

She hurried out of the bedroom and down to the garage where Sam was lying on a bench lifting weights.

"Sam!"

He replaced the bar and sat up quickly.

"What is it, Naomi?" he asked.

"Tim's gone. He wrote us a note."

"Gone? What do you mean, he's gone? When did he leave?"

"I don't know. He pulled the sheets off the bed. His bag is gone, and this note was on the dresser."

She held it out.

"Have you read it?"

She shook her head.

Sam wiped at the sweat on his face.

"Read it aloud."

She nodded and unfolded the letter.

"'Mom and Dad, I'm sorry that I'm doing it this way, but I know that you'd never let me do what I'm going to do. I can't trust that things will work out. From the moment that Director Vance told me about what was coming, I knew that this was designed to railroad Dad. This isn't about justice. It's about saving face, and if the government is directly involved, then, there will never be a fair trial, and I can't bear the thought of Dad dying. It's almost happened twice, I won't face it a third time. I'm going to find out what happened, who gave the orders and who is pulling the strings this time. I'm going to do whatever it takes, and I don't care if I have to go prison for it. I will. Don't bother calling me or trying to track me down. I'm going off the grid until I find what I'm looking for. I may be on the move a lot. I don't know where it will lead me, but I don't care. I'm going to do what I can to stop this.'

'I know that you don't want me to do it. I know that you hate the idea that I'm willing to sacrifice myself for Dad. I know that, but I don't care. I love you too much to lose you, Dad. That's what I care about. I hope you can both forgive me for what I'm going to do. I care what you think, not what anyone else thinks. But no matter what you think, I'm not changing my mind. Maybe this time, I can stop the wreck before it happens.'

'Non sibi, sed patri.'"

Naomi looked up.

"The Navy motto."

"No, it's not," Sam said, looking devastated. "He's changed it, just a little. If it were the motto it would be _non sibi, sed patriae_. Not for self but for country. What he wrote there is..."

"What, Sam?" Naomi asked.

Sam's voice was choked. "Not for self... but for father. He's saying that he's doing it for me, and I don't want him to do this for me, not if it's as dangerous as he's claiming. ...and you know our son. He won't stop until he finds out everything, no matter what it costs him."

"Sam...what do we do?"

"I don't know, Naomi. I...I just don't know."

"What about his team? In DC. He didn't tell them, but surely, they'll notice that he's not at work. Maybe they could help."

"If we do that, we can't just call them. I don't know that we have people watching us yet, but I wouldn't put it past them to start tapping our phones."

"Then, we won't call. We'll drive down. It's only a few hours' drive. Ed has been ready for you to take time off. Just call him and tell him that the time has come."

"Just like that?" Sam asked. "No warning, even?"

"Yes," Naomi said. "You've warned him before and he said he'd be ready." She sat down. "I know that this isn't how you wanted it to go. I know that you've wanted to keep things as normal as possible, but it's time to give in and stop hiding from it."

Naomi watched as Sam sighed. He didn't want to do this. He might have simply given in to the coming court martial and hoped for mercy based on his paralysis if she hadn't refused to let him. They were going to fight it, but it was a reluctant fight.

Now, it would be something more because Tim had decided to take on that fight whether they wanted him to or not, and he was completely aware of how they would feel about it. However, he wouldn't let that stop him, either. He was determined to do whatever it took, and Naomi knew what Tim meant when he said he was willing to go to prison. He was deadly serious. He would do anything to save his father and then, he would submit to what he saw as justice because he knew he would be breaking the law. If it saved his father, then, that was all he cared about and he'd pay that price.

Sam sighed again.

"Shakespeare. 'When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.'"

He leaned forward and covered his head with his hands.

"I wish he didn't love me that much," Sam said, his voice muffled.

Naomi held back her own tears and hugged Sam tightly.

"It's not just about love, Sam. It's also about right and wrong and we did too good a job in teaching Tim what was right and wrong. We can't take that back, but we _can_ try to get Tim help. He's tried to make it so that we can't find him. Maybe he's done that, but that doesn't mean that he'll be able to hide from his team, too. We can do this. We'll figure it out."

Sam nodded and it only took an hour for them to pack a few things, get ready, call Ed and then be on their way down to DC.

Hoping for some way to stop Tim before he went too far.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Duck, need to talk to you."

"Of course, Jethro. I'll just be a moment," Ducky said without even looking at him. He was focused on Jimmy. "Mr. Palmer, I need you to be sure to get this correct form to Metro as soon as possible. Let them know that I've fixed all the errors and that everything should be as they need it, now. I apologize for the delay."

"Yes, Dr. Mallard." Jimmy took the form and headed out.

Then, Ducky looked at Gibbs.

"It was quite embarrassing. I had the form, but somehow, as I was filling it out, I got off a line and I must not have been paying as much attention as I should and I ended up sending them a form that was completely useless. I've been working on that this morning." Then, Ducky noticed how serious Gibbs was. "What is it, Jethro?"

"McGee quit."

"What? Just like that? He came and..."

"Didn't come in. He's missing."

"Missing. Are you sure it was him quitting, not something or someone else who has something to gain?"

"Sent a message to both Vance and me, saying that he was going to be doing something that's illegal and he didn't want to bring that down on NCIS. No gray area, here, Duck."

Ducky actually smiled a little. "With Timothy, there usually aren't gray areas. He's one who is very much black and white, and he prefers it that way. What would possess him to do this?"

"Something about his father."

"Oh. Given what little he's told us about Mr. McGee, I suppose that if anything would get him to quit so abruptly, it would be family, especially his father."

"You think they know about it?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because he said he was going to Ohio over the weekend. Got time off for it. Then, suddenly, he's gone."

"You're wondering if he had planned to use that as an excuse?"

"Yeah."

"How long has he known about this problem?"

"Only since Friday."

"Well, it's certainly possible, but at the same time, if this is something he's doing for his family, I imagine that he would want to make sure he was fully prepared for what he was planning to do rather than just dashing off. Surely, that would take some time, even for Timothy. Do you know any of the details of what's going on?"

"Only that it's something to do with when his dad was in the military. It's Top Secret and SecNav was worried about McGee's objectivity being compromised."

"Oh, dear. That does not sound promising."

"No."

"Whether his parents know or not, it might be a good idea to tell them. If Timothy is doing it for his father, then, his father should have the chance to know about it. Did Timothy tell you to keep it a secret?"

"No."

"Then, either they already know or he isn't anticipating the necessity of keeping his family out of it. So I would say that you should tell them what little you know."

"I don't like this, Ducky. The last time he did something for his family..."

"He was willing to give up his job just to show his solidarity with his sister," Ducky said, seriously. "Yes, I agree. For all that he is generally a by-the-book sort of person, Timothy's attitude changes when he feels that his family is in danger, and in both cases, it's a situation where he believes he has to protect his family from attack. I believe that he will be willing to go far beyond what he would do for anyone else, including for himself. And I believe that he'll continue to try to do it on his own."

"It's not like the rest of us haven't crossed that line before, Ducky," Gibbs said. "We'd do it again."

"Yes, but you haven't done it for Timothy himself. It would be selfish in his mind to ask you to compromise yourselves for him, even though I'd wager he knows you'd do it in a heartbeat."

"He'd better," Gibbs said. After all the years they'd worked together, Tim had better realize that the team would be there for him.

Ducky smiled at the declaration.

"What will you be doing?" he asked.

"Nothing official, not right now. He hasn't done anything...yet."

"Of course. Well, anything I can do to help, I'll do it. Please, ask, and at the least, keep me informed."

Gibbs nodded and headed back upstairs. Even though he had every intention of using NCIS resources as much as he thought he could get away with, he did still have a job to do and he'd try to keep his attempts to track down Tim and figure out what in the world he was going to be doing outside of work hours.

Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't ask Abby to take on some things, and she would feel no qualms about trying to multitask.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance was kept busy most of the day, but when he had a few minutes to himself, he walked to his computer and brought up the email Tim had written him. This was something that needed a lot of thought, and it was also forcing him to reevaluate his perception of who Tim was and what motivated him.

There was one section of the message he had not shared with Gibbs, in part because, as Gibbs was fond of saying, the best way to keep a secret was to keep it to yourself. Sharing it might be risky for Vance himself, anyway. As far as Vance was concerned, the request Tim had made was one that didn't need to be shared out at all.

He read the email again.

 _Director Vance,_

 _Thank you for taking the time today to inform me of the issues with my father. I'm grateful because it gives me a chance to figure this out before anything more can be done on their side. I wanted to let you know that I'm quitting. I cannot and will not accept what they will be trying to do to my father. I can tolerate a lot of things going wrong, but I cannot tolerate an attack on my family. The things I'm planning on doing to stop this are illegal and I can't drag NCIS through the mud for it. I care too much about its mission and the people who work there. Because of that, I have to separate myself from it. Then, when what I've done comes out, it will be as a former NCIS agent, not a current one._

 _The one thing I have to ask, though, is that you not rush to remove my access to the NCIS databases. I can and will get in without it, if necessary, but I am asking you for this one favor. I swear that all I want is to find out details of what happened and who might be calling the shots. I won't be searching for anything unrelated to my father's case._

 _I won't ask for any confirmation of that, and I know I could be getting you in trouble just by asking, but this is my family. I have to ask. I have to do this, no matter what it takes._

 _Thank you again,_

 _Tim McGee_

 _My resignation form is attached to this email and I've sent the form in to HR._

Vance sighed as he reread the request Tim had made. He shouldn't even entertain the idea. Knowing that Tim planned on using it illegally, he should remove Tim's access codes right now. Tim may be able to hack in without them (or rather, he definitely _could_ hack in without them), but he might reveal his whereabouts when he did it, and Vance knew that he should be trying to make it harder for Tim to do this, not easier. This was far and away beyond what he should be willing to take on, no matter who was asking.

But at the same time, Vance couldn't stand by completely. He understood Tim's emotion as much as was possible, and he acknowledged that this was probably a situation where the government was going to use Sam McGee as a scapegoat to cover the real story, whatever that was. That was nothing new, but it wasn't right. Vance knew that, occasionally, he had accepted what was politically expedient, but this time, he knew the person being directly affected by what wasn't right.

He felt it gave him a moral obligation to help, even obliquely.

So, instead of filing the resignation and requesting a change in Tim's access codes, Vance looked at the email once more, called HR and told them to ignore the form Tim had sent them, and then deleted the message and, as much as he could, he cleared out any digital remnants of its existence.

As far as anyone else was concerned, Tim was still employed by NCIS and could access NCIS files at will.

 _I hope I haven't just sabotaged myself,_ he thought.

Then, he got back to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sam sat rigidly in the car as they drove down to DC. He wasn't sure when he'd felt so afraid before. If only Tim didn't feel this need to defend his father. The sad thing was that Sam knew where it had come from. It wasn't from the accident itself. That had been bad, but if that had been all that happened, it would have just been Tim's lingering guilt to deal with. No, it was something else. It was from his aborted suicide attempt. Tim had stopped Sam from going through with it, just by being there. The fact that Tim had been able to save him from himself had led to Tim feeling that he _had_ to. It was almost the reverse of the way things _should_ be...except that Sam had not given up his paternal role. By his actions this time, Tim was essentially forcing Sam to fight back because, if he lost, Tim would be lost as well.

"We're almost there, Sam," Naomi said.

"Good," Sam said, absently. "'They alone are sons who are devoted to their father. He is a father who supports his sons. He is a friend in whom we can confide, and she only is a wife in whose company the husband feels contented and peaceful.'"

Without taking her eyes off the road, Naomi reached out her hand and squeezed Sam's shoulder.

"Who said that, Sam?"

"Chanakya, an ancient Indian politician."

"Smart man. This is going to work out. I don't know how. I don't know how long it will take. I don't know how hard it will be. But it _will_ work out. I refuse to accept any other alternative."

"This part of my life was supposed to be over, Naomi," Sam said. "I've tried to forget it. I've tried to ignore it. I never told Tim about it because I didn't want to sour him on the Navy, even though he knew a little bit just from hearing us. I knew it could, but I didn't think this _would_ ever come up again. Now, it has in the worst way, and Tim has made my fight into his own...but he's going to go too far."

"What's too far, Sam?"

"Anything that puts him on the wrong side of the law. I don't want my son committing a crime for me. He said it himself. He won't stop until he finds the answers he wants to find. Why didn't he come to me to get them?"

"Be honest, Sam. If Tim had come to you, asking for the answers, would you give them?"

"No. Of course not," Sam said. "I can't give those answers, not to anyone."

"But you'll have to because, classified or not, this is going to be your life on the line and you will have to explain it to _someone_."

"Yes, to the military tribunal, not to my son, not to my friends, not to the media," Sam said, a little sternly. "Just because the government is going about it this way doesn't mean that I can compromise my honor and my values. I swore to uphold the secrecy of the mission. I swore to uphold that secrecy the first time I got involved in special ops and every time afterward. Unless the Top Secret classification is removed, I can't talk about it. I'm doing more than I should in even admitting that there's something to talk about at all."

He looked over and saw a knowing smile on Naomi's face.

"Exactly, Sam. Tim knew the same thing I know. You won't break a promise. You still have the same sense of military honor that you did when you were in the Navy. That's something that nothing can take away from you. He knew he wouldn't get answers from you. I don't like what he's chosen to do, but I really should have seen it coming. I should have known what Tim would think and what he'd decide to do."

"We both should have known," Sam said, leaning his head back on the seat. "Isn't that why we didn't tell him sooner? We thought he'd overreact and worry too much. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe he wouldn't have taken it so hard if we had told him ourselves instead of his finding out from his boss."

"I don't think it would have mattered. There's no way we could have told him that wouldn't have panicked him just like this. The only difference might have been that we would have known it right away instead of finding out after the fact. He had all that time to stew about it coming up to see us. So we got his anger and we got his control, afterward. He'd had too much time to think and plan instead of letting us see his immediate fear."

"You're probably right."

Sam sighed once more.

"I'm sorry, Naomi."

"For what? For being an honorable man? For living your life so that your family loves you? Don't apologize for being the good guy in this situation, and yes, you are the good guy. I know you too well, Sam. You can't pretend that you think you made the wrong choice back then. I know you don't." Naomi hesitated visibly and glanced at him. "That's why Charlie's betrayal hurt so much. You thought... we _both_ thought that any price was worth maintaining our honor and we thought Charlie felt the same way."

Sam's stomach clenched at the reminder. He didn't even know how to respond to it. He didn't _want_ to discuss Charlie at all. Thankfully, Naomi didn't push that particular topic. He knew that she didn't want to think too much about Charlie, either.

"There's the exit to M Street," Naomi said. "We'll see if they'll be willing to talk to us outside, so that we can keep it unofficial."

Sam nodded and he wondered, for just a moment, when it was that he had changed from the one who was always in charge, who always _expected_ to be in charge, to the one who was willing to go along. They both had strong personalities, but Sam had mellowed more than he would ever have thought he could. He'd had a hard transition from military to civilian life, although he'd been lucky to have a backup plan already in mind and a family to focus on. In reality, it was his family who had saved him when everything had gone pear-shaped.

 _I was worried about losing my career before. Now, the only thing I can't bear to lose is my family._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Gibbs was working at his desk, knowing that Tony was barely focusing on anything besides what was going on with Tim. Why had he decided to leave instead of let them help? Could he really manage this stuff without any assistance? Gibbs was, quite frankly, doubtful that Tim could do all that might be required on his own. Certainly, he had the skills to find information whatever information he thought was necessary, but what would he do with it?

His phone rang.

"Gibbs."

" _Hey, Agent Gibbs. You have a couple of visitors down here. They've asked to talk to you."_

"Who are they, Henry?" Gibbs asked, wondering who would be coming here and assuming that they could just get in the building.

" _Agent McGee's parents. Sam and Naomi McGee, but they asked to talk to you, not to Agent McGee. Do you know what's going on?"_

So they must know something. There was no reason for them to just show up at NCIS if they didn't know something was going on with their son. That would be too much of a coincidence.

"No. Send them up."

There was a pause and then Henry was back on the line.

" _Actually, they're asking if you'll come down and talk to them."_

"Okay. I'll be right down."

Gibbs hung up and met Tony's inquiring gaze.

"McGee's parents."

Tony started to stand up, but Gibbs gestured for him to stay.

"I'll let you know."

Tony looked like he wanted to protest, but then, he nodded and sank back to his chair. Gibbs hurried downstairs as quickly as he could. When he got off the elevator, he saw Tim's parents for the first time. He had known that Sam McGee was in a wheelchair, but he wasn't sure that he'd had the right image in his mind of a former military man turned English professor. The man he was seeing here was very overtly worried, and he seemed even a little soft. At the same time, though, Gibbs knew he shouldn't make assumptions like that. Tim seemed soft when just looking at his outward appearance, too, but he had a steely determination when he decided something was right. He had to get that from somewhere.

Naomi McGee also looked worried, but she had an overt steel to her that told Gibbs she would not be a pushover in any situation. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd never want to have to go against her in anything. Actually, he wondered how Tim could ever have grown up being so self-conscious with parents as strong as his appeared to be.

They were talking quietly to each other when Gibbs approached.

"Mr. and Mrs. McGee," Henry said, "here's Agent Gibbs."

They stopped talking and looked at him. Gibbs wondered who would speak first, who would take charge of the current situation.

"Agent Gibbs, it's nice to meet you. We've been in a car all day. Would you mind stepping outside and talking to us for a few minutes?" Sam asked.

"Sure." Gibbs gestured for them to precede him and watched as Sam rolled himself out of the building. There was a physical strength to him that wasn't instantly obvious. Of course, after all the years of being paralyzed, he would have to be able to get around himself, but he wasn't just able. He was strong. His arms were probably stronger than many people's legs. There was an ease with which he moved that bespoke great strength, not just getting by because he had to.

They went out of the building and Gibbs led them to Willard Park. They walked to a bench. Naomi and Gibbs sat down with Sam facing them.

Sam put out his hand. Gibbs shook it and noticed how calloused it was, how strong Sam's grip was.

"It really is nice to meet you, Agent Gibbs," Sam said. "Tim has told us a lot about his team, and Sarah had some things to say, too. I think you live up to the descriptions."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and wondered what those descriptions might be. The situation in which he'd met Sarah hadn't exactly been easy and calm. However, that wasn't important at the moment.

"He never told us much about you," Gibbs said, honestly.

"I'm not surprised," Sam said.

"Have you heard from Tim recently?" Naomi asked, getting to the point.

"I had an email from him this morning."

"He emailed you?" Sam asked. "What did he say?"

"He actually wrote it on Friday. I didn't get it until this morning," Gibbs said. "He told me that he was quitting."

"Quitting?" Naomi repeated. "He didn't tell us that." She looked at Sam with greater worry.

"No, he didn't," Sam said. "I can guess why. That only makes things that much worse. Did he say why?"

"For his family," Gibbs said, tersely. "No details, only that he was doing things that would be illegal and he didn't want to make NCIS look bad, but that he couldn't sit back and let whatever it was happen. What's going on?"

This was a testing of the waters. How much were the McGees willing to share with a perfect stranger?

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Within the next few weeks, I'll be facing a general court martial."

Even knowing that there was going to be a trial of some kind, Gibbs was surprised that it was a general court martial, especially for someone who had been retired for so long.

"Why? What are you accused of?"

"I can't tell you any details, Agent Gibbs. The operation in question is still classified Top Secret."

"What _can_ you tell me, then?"

"That it has to do with the last operation I led when I was still in the Navy. Everything went wrong. Most of my unit died."

"Sam almost died, too. He was seriously injured and, while it's not obvious now, he lost some of his peripheral vision. That was the excuse for his retirement."

"At this point, we're still at the pre-trial investigation stage. I haven't been asked any questions yet, and I don't know exactly who will be called upon to head up the..."

"...persecution and baseless attack on your character and freedom," Naomi interrupted with a very bitter tone.

"Naomi..." Sam began, sounding resigned more than anything.

"Don't start sugarcoating it all now, Sam," she said. "This is a travesty and we both know it...and Agent Gibbs should know it, too. It's the whole reason why Tim is missing. He knew it without even knowing everything."

Agent Gibbs raised an eyebrow, waiting for some kind of elaboration.

Naomi looked at Sam, and he sighed and nodded.

"Fine. Go ahead."

Naomi pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and held it out.

"This is the letter that Tim left for us. We don't know when exactly he left, but it must have been early in the morning. Sam and I stayed up pretty late talking and Tim was gone when I got up this morning. I didn't hear anything, but he left this for us in his room."

Gibbs took the paper and read through it. It was clear that Tim's mind had gone to the worst possible scenario, and it looked like his parents were taking it that seriously, as well. Whatever the situation had been, he could see that the operation had been bad.

"How much does Tim know about your operation?"

"Right now, nothing more than that it almost killed me," Sam said. "I'm not kidding myself that it'll stay like that for long. Once he starts looking, he'll find everything that's available to find. Maybe he'll even know things that I never did."

Gibbs wouldn't be surprised by that, unfortunately. Tim was very thorough when he started searching for information. Then, he looked at the letter again.

"You almost died twice?"

Sam looked down and then at Naomi.

"Yes. Unfortunately, I don't think he's counting this operation. He didn't understand all that at the time. He knew I was hurt, but he didn't get the rest of it. There was very little lingering fear from that." Sam smiled a little. "Actually, I think those months when Tim began to realize that I wasn't going to leave again were some of his happiest. No, he's talking about when he was a teenager."

"I would guess that one of them is when you were paralyzed."

Sam nodded. "I wish the other was completely unrelated, but it wasn't. It was a direct consequence of my being paralyzed. What made it so bad is that Tim blamed himself for so long because he was driving the car when the accident happened. And it was a freak accident that was so far from being his fault, but he was at the wheel, and I was the worst injured. I was used to being an active person, Agent Gibbs. I was special ops in the military. After I recovered, I was outside all the time. I never let anything hold me back. I looked at being paralyzed as a...a death sentence. And I almost made it that."

"Suicide?"

"Almost. Tim found me when I was about to go through with it," Sam said, looking ashamed. "I don't know if I've ever seen someone look so betrayed. It broke me out of my self-absorption and self-pity, but it couldn't undo the damage. For years, Tim was so full of guilt for being the cause, as he saw it, for my near suicide that he avoided me. He was angry at my betrayal and afraid and guilty because he blamed himself and it took so long to get through all that. When he wrote that he couldn't face a third time, it was that fear again. He's afraid of having to face me dying. You'd think he was the parent, but he cares too much about me."

"Not _too_ much," Naomi corrected. "He cares a lot and he can overreact, but it's not because he cares too much. He cares as much as he should. I just wish he wouldn't express it this way."

"Those are the two times, Agent Gibbs," Sam said. "And that's why Tim has reacted the way he has. He's going to find the answers, no matter what it takes, and I'm afraid of what it will take and..." He paused.

"And?"

"And I'm afraid of what might be done to him...to stop him from finding out what happened."

"It's that serious?"

"Yes, I think it is," Sam said. "The reason I retired was because it was either that or face publicity the government didn't want for what I'd been ordered to do. If they're willing to go this far so long after it all happened, I don't know how far they'd be willing to go to stop someone from finding the truth. I don't even know who _they_ are. This operation was given to me through my superior officer, but I never knew who had actually organized. You don't ask those questions in special ops, but I didn't like the way it was going, even before I knew what was going to be asked of us. This is very high-level stuff going on, and because of all the layers of secrecy, I can well imagine someone being willing to...kill to stop my son. ...if they know that he's looking. I just don't know if or when they'll find out."

Gibbs could see that Sam meant it. He thought it was a real possibility that Tim could be in danger.

"So...what do you want from me?" he asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. "Honestly, I don't know what to ask you for."

"I don't know if we _should_ ask you for anything at all," Naomi said. "We didn't dare call, just in case."

In case of what, she didn't say, but Gibbs didn't need to ask. He understood. That was why they wanted to talk outside. Less chance of a recording being made that would tip people off to what Tim was likely about to do.

"I have a lawyer, Agent Gibbs. He's very good. Naomi picked him out, herself. You may not know it, but she was almost a lawyer."

"I decided I was too good for the law," Naomi said with a smile. "But I have a lot of friends still practicing and, as far as the trial itself goes, we're not necessarily worried about it...if everything is on the level, but we know that the deck will be stacked against us. We also know that, because Sam doesn't know all the players involved, that we could lose. People will be calling the shots that we don't know about. Tim knows that, too. And this being a general court martial..."

"They could go for the death penalty," Gibbs finished. "Do you think they would?"

"It depends on why they're bringing it up again. If this is a measure to save face, then, yes, they could. But even if they don't, I'll be facing prison time. A lot of it," Sam said. "It would probably be for the rest of my life, however long that may be."

And Tim would never accept that. Not ever. Even if he thought his father was guilty, he'd probably have a hard time with it. But when he was innocent...

"Be honest with me," Gibbs said.

"We haven't lied to you," Naomi said, sounding a little affronted.

"Two things," Gibbs said. "One, I know you can't tell me what the op was, but are you guilty of anything?"

"Agent Gibbs!" Naomi said.

"No, Naomi," Sam said. "It's an important question to ask. He doesn't know me, and I've given very little information to help him make any kind of evaluation of my character. I am guilty of one thing, Agent Gibbs. I disobeyed orders, but I promise you that it was for a very good reason. In fact, I couldn't have lived with myself if I had obeyed them. I was willing to pay for that with my life...and I almost did, but I don't regret that decision."

Gibbs understood those kinds of orders. He nodded. That was one worry out of the way.

"Two, do you want me to help your son?"

Sam and Naomi looked at each other and took a breath.

"Yes," Sam said. "I shouldn't ask it of you. I shouldn't even be entertaining the thought because I know where it could lead you, but I can't not ask it. He's my son, Agent Gibbs. He's my only son, and I have to take the chance."

It was interesting to hear Sam say that because, in that moment, Gibbs could almost see Tim standing before him in the elevator trying to get Gibbs to understand why he had risked everything for Sarah. It had all boiled down to one sentence: _She's my sister_. At the heart of this whole mess was family, and Gibbs could respect that, even while he saw that Tim was putting a lot on the line that he may not even need to.

"Okay."

"Thank you," Naomi said, her voice almost in a whisper.

"Do you need to go back to Ohio?"

"No. Not for now. My lawyer is aware of where we are."

"Do you need a recommendation for a JAG lawyer?"

"Maybe. My lawyer has some military experience, but not much, only in a plea agreement. He had said he'd get us a list of military lawyers if we wanted one."

"I know some JAG lawyers," Gibbs said.

"We'd be happy to talk to them," Naomi said.

He nodded and made a mental note to talk to Faith Coleman. Whether she wanted to take on something so potentially risky or not, she could give other suggestions, maybe even some advice.

"Get a hotel and stay a few days. I'll let you know."

Sam nodded.

"Thank you for your time, Agent Gibbs. Anything you do will be appreciated."

Gibbs shook their hands and went back inside. It was time to start taking some action. He filled Tony in on what was going on, and then, he knew that he still had work to do. This would have to be done with some careful planning.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Tim felt himself getting tired. The car he was driving appeared to be getting tired, too. He missed his Porsche, but it was too obvious. They would track him down in a second if he kept driving it. Everyone knew what he drove. Why make it easy? So he had parked it at an old friend's house. His friend was on vacation and wouldn't ever know (hopefully). Tim had left a note, just in case, but ideally, there would be no reason for his friend to know anything about it. Then, he found an old clunker for sale, cheap. All cash, quick transaction. The guy hadn't looked very interested in making this official. That was all to the better, as far as Tim was concerned. It might not hold them off forever, but it would do for now. Just another layer of anonymity. The more layers, the better.

He had also stopped at a store to buy a deep-cycle battery. He'd invested in an inverter a few years ago and had experimented with using it to charge his laptop, his phone, any electronic device, with the idea that he'd never have to be out of contact unless he really wanted to be. The deep-cycle battery would be better than a regular car battery (especially _this_ car's battery). From what he understood, he'd be able to get a lot more charges out of it and he wouldn't even have to turn on his car, at least not for a while. That would mean he could stay hidden for as long as he wanted.

Still, he needed to find a base of operations. He had told his parents that he'd be on the move a lot, but he actually wasn't planning on that, unless it became necessary. He had his own sat connection. No need to ping off someone's wifi which would be pretty easy to track down. He'd done it himself. As he thought those things, he wondered at the irony. Everything he knew about investigating crime was now helping him commit a crime. He wasn't sure he appreciated the irony at all.

He shook his head as the anger enveloped him again. This shouldn't even be necessary! Why were they coming after his father? _Why?_

Suddenly, he stopped the car. He was on a lonely stretch of road, in a wooded area. It had an abandoned feel to it. Not many people would be out here.

And a tumble-down house (or cabin, maybe) was sitting right there. The windows were broken out, the door ajar. It was completely dark and off the road in a small clearing. A tree was growing up through the porch and the trunk had curved around the wall, cracking both it and the foundation. No one would have been out here for years, it looked like.

So long as there weren't any random squatters, this might be perfect. Miserable, but perfect. Tim pulled over and carefully got out of the car. It was very quiet. The whole area had that eerie, empty feeling that was rather off-putting. Even if someone did stop here, they wouldn't want to hang out. Perfect.

He slowly walked around the structure. The roof had some gaps in it, but it didn't look like it was going to fall in on him. Both a front and a back door, neither latched closed. Three windows. There was no sign of anyone. No sign that there were squatters, even. This place seemed to have been forgotten...decades ago, maybe. It looked like he could pull the car around to the back and no one would be able to see it from the road. He was only about half an hour's drive from a main highway, meaning that he could replenish his supplies from various places without arousing suspicion. He didn't think he could find anything better than this.

Decision made, Tim walked back to his car and drove it off the road. Carefully, he navigated around to the back of the cabin, taking care not to puncture a tire. There was no spare and so he didn't want to have to deal with that because of a sharp branch or root or something. He parked and then walked back to the road and and looked back from both directions, making sure the car wouldn't be visible. People might notice an empty cabin, but they'd forget it a few minutes later. A car parked by a seemingly empty, rundown cabin might make them think about it...and mention it later. One word in the wrong ears would ruin this as a base.

Satisfied, he walked back and began unloading the car. He'd bought a cooler, but he knew that would only be semi-effective. Mostly, he'd have to make do with shelf-stable products. He'd tried to get a well-rounded supply, but he knew that he'd be roughing it and be fairly miserable.

"It's worth it," he said aloud. "Anything is worth it."

Inside, he'd lucked out in that there was some old rickety furniture, including a coffee table. No bed, but Tim had a sleeping bag and a foam pad. That would be enough. There were spider webs in most of the corners and bird droppings on the floor. A few rotted boards, but since it had just been set on packed earth, he wasn't worried about falling through the floor, although he might have to worry about the roof falling in on him. He looked up and could see the sky through some of the larger cracks. Oh, well. Back to work.

He hauled in his case of bottled water, the snacks that would mostly be his food supply, his laptop, extra batteries and all the things he'd need to do his work. The one major issue was that he'd have to periodically recharge his computer and the only convenient way to do that was with the deep-cycle battery he'd purchased. From what he'd read, it would last longer than using a regular battery, but it had limits. Still, he could do it, even though it was far from ideal. But off the grid meant off the grid and he couldn't imagine that the government would think to come after him out here first. They'd think he was holed up in a city somewhere. It would make more sense to the people who knew him or knew about him. It would also make sense to the people who didn't know the extent of his skills. If they didn't know what he was capable of, they'd think he needed the access to resources that a city would provide.

"Ha," Tim said to himself. For once, being an invisible nobody would be of service to him. Even if they discovered that he was the author of _Deep Six_ , it wouldn't lead them to any greater understanding of his abilities. As much as he loved being an author, it showed nothing of what he could do as a computer guy.

Then, it was time to get to work, and the first task was to see just how far Vance was willing to go to help him.

He booted up his laptop, set up his hotspot and tried to get into the NCIS system.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance was sitting at his desk, working on some reports for an upcoming meeting with the assistant directors. His phone rang.

"Yes, Ms. Long?"

" _Agent Keating, from Cybercrimes, is on the phone."_

"Put him through," Vance said, absently.

" _Director?"_

"Yes, Agent Keating. What do you need?" Vance asked, focusing on his papers.

" _Sir, I think I may need to talk to you in person."_

Vance suddenly realized what this could be about.

"You're absolutely right, Agent Keating. Have you taken your lunch yet?"

" _No, sir."_

"Then, do so and wait for me in Willard Park."

" _Yes, sir,"_ Keating said, sounding relieved.

Vance didn't blame him. While completely competent, Keating was not made for any kind of subterfuge. It was just that he was the best option of any of the Cybercrimes people, any of whom might notice things. He needed someone who could manage that without being told about everything that was going on.

Vance hung up and left his office.

"Ms. Long, I'm stepping out for a few minutes. If there are any calls, just take a message and let them know I'll return them shortly."

"Yes, Director," Pamela said, without any concern.

Vance appreciated how unflappable she was. Perhaps, he could tell her what was going on, but the fewer who knew anything, the better. The only reason he'd told Keating was because he was the most likely to see anything.

He left the building without even a glance at Gibbs. At some point, Gibbs would have to know, but not yet.

Keating was sitting on a bench by the cannon, looking slightly perplexed. He didn't know details, either, just the basics.

"Director," he said, starting to stand.

"Have a seat, Agent Keating. You had something to tell me," Vance said, sitting beside him.

"You said that you wanted to know when Agent McGee's login was used."

"It was?" That was fast. Tim wasn't wasting any time.

"Yes, sir. About an hour ago."

"Could you determine the source?"

"No. It was completely masked. I might be able to follow the signal if he was on for a long period of time, but he'd have to stay in the same place for a while. I mean...Agent McGee knows what he's doing...and he knows what _we'll_ be doing, too." Keating hesitated. "Sir, can I ask what this is about?"

"You can ask, but I can't tell you. However, it is extremely important that you don't talk about this to anyone."

There was another pause, and he knew that Keating wanted to ask the obvious question. The problem was that Vance wasn't sure of the answer. Tim had no particular designs against the country (he hoped), but at the same time, this was about family. Tim would do things for his family that he wouldn't in any other situation.

"Has Agent McGee gone rogue, sir?"

Vance knew that this was an important question and now that it had been asked, it needed to be answered. He decided to say what he _hoped_ the answer was.

"No, Agent Keating."

Keating looked relieved.

"Do you want me to keep watching for his login?"

Vance considered. On the one hand, he wasn't sure he wanted to know just how much Tim was using NCIS resources when he shouldn't be. However, at the same time, if things really went south, Vance figured it might just be better to be forewarned about what he might be accused of.

"Yes, Agent Keating. If anyone else in Cybercrimes makes note of it, let me know that, as well. Don't keep a written log. Just inform me once a day of when Agent McGee's login information is used. If you don't tell me, I'll assume he hasn't been on."

"Yes, sir. I will."

"Good. Now, go enjoy your lunch. I appreciate your help."

Keating smiled and nodded. It was probably good for his confidence to have Vance relying on him even with something as simple as watching for a particular login. He could manage it, and he didn't have the same level of information that Vance had to make him worry about whether or not this was ethical.

"Thank you, sir." Keating got up and headed for the food court.

As soon as he was out of sight, Vance sighed. He could only hope that he was making the right decision. Normally, Tim was the last person he'd worry about when it came to pushing things too far. Oh, he had flirted with going too far before, but he hadn't crossed the line. That was usually Gibbs' job. He had seen it in Tim's eyes, though. It had been utter shock, followed by abject fear. Vance knew only the basics of Tim's family background but that instant, visceral reaction spoke volumes about Tim's relationship with his father. It was deep and complex and Tim would never stand by and watch this happen. It was impossible.

Vance took a deep breath and stood up. He couldn't sit out here any longer. There was too much to do. He went back inside. As he walked back to his office, he looked down at Gibbs who looked up at him with that inscrutable expression. Even with the situation, Vance couldn't suppress a knowing smile. Gibbs would figure it out and Vance was glad of it. It looked as though Tim was opening a long-hidden can of worms and that could be dangerous. These were high stakes. Tim needed help, even if he didn't think he wanted it.

"Any calls?" Vance asked Pamela when he got back.

"None. I was just about to take my lunch break."

"Feel free."

Vance went into his office and sat down.

He hoped this would all work out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim smiled as his login worked. Good. One less issue.

It was time to get started for real.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Commander McGee!"

Sam turned and smiled.

"Commander Leadore, how nice to see you. ...on time, for once."

Charlie laughed. "I'm always on time, and you know it."

"You cut it pretty close."

"The way you talk, now, Sam. You're such an old, married man, now."

"And you're going to be an old, creepy, single man, if you don't get a move on."

"Creepy? I'm hot stuff! I'm not creepy!"

"Not yet," Sam said.

"Ha. I'm going to be living it up long after you start getting fat and sedentary."

"I'm never going to be sedentary," Sam said. "I can promise you that. I don't care how old I get. Sedentary is not part of my makeup."

"So you say, now, but that's what happens to the married guys. They slow down and then, they get fat and unappealing. What's a good-looking woman to do, then?"

"Buy him a treadmill?" Sam suggested.

They both laughed and started down the hallway together.

"Do you know what this is going to be about?" Charlie asked, after a few seconds.

"Not a clue. I'm assuming that they have something for us to do."

"Must be pretty serious if we're not getting any information about it in advance."

"Yeah. Naomi wasn't too happy about it, herself."

"You told her?" Charlie asked, surprised.

"I told her I had a meeting. She's smart enough to understand what that could mean, Charlie. It doesn't matter whether I give her details or not. ...but I didn't, in case you were worried."

"Honestly, man, I can't figure out why you'd stick with these special ops when you've got a wife and kid. I don't know if I could risk it."

"Gotta do what you gotta do. ...but I've been thinking about that, too. Sometimes, I think Tim doesn't even really know who I am. I don't get to spend much time with him at all, and he's growing up so fast."

"You going to have any more?"

Sam sighed. "We'd like to, but Naomi has had a lot of trouble. We didn't really spread it around, but she's had ten miscarriages, and I don't know how much more she can take, emotionally."

"Ten? Really? That doesn't sound normal."

"It's not, but her doctor doesn't know why it's happening. He said that some people just have a hard time carrying to term and that we lucked out with Tim. We'll keep trying until Naomi says she can't do it anymore."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. Don't let that turn into scuttlebutt. I don't think Naomi would forgive me if people were talking about that on base."

"Never. Cross my heart."

"Thanks."

They reached the room and stood at ease while they waited to be admitted.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Gibbs went into Abby's lab, strode directly into her office and turned down the blaring noise she insisted was music. He couldn't understand the appeal. No matter how many times he'd come into her lab and heard it, it always sounded like loud noise to him. Sometimes, he just had to turn it off, but this time, he did want some sound to cover up what he was about to ask her to do.

"Hey, Gibbs! What's up?" Abby asked.

At first, Gibbs thought that, just maybe, Abby hadn't heard about Tim not being here, but then, he saw it in her eye. She was pretending that things were normal. Not particularly well, but at least she wasn't have a freak out as she tended to do.

"Need you to do something for me."

"What?"

"See if you can find out where McGee is."

Abby looked at him intently. "You don't know? You really don't know?"

"I don't know," Gibbs admitted, although he hated that he had to.

It still galled him that Tim had been able to hide how he was feeling and get away without Gibbs realizing how serious it was and what he was planning. Tim wasn't a good liar, never had been, and now, he could hide planning to quit his job, planning to break the law? It was annoying that he'd been duped so thoroughly. How in the world had Tim been able to pretend that it was something as simple as a new assignment...and succeed?

"Okay. And he doesn't want to be found?"

"Nope."

"Then, I can bypass all the usual stuff. He knows all the simple things."

"He said he wouldn't be using his phone." Gibbs paused and then added, "And he said that he'd made it so that you couldn't track him down."

He didn't bother to say that Tim had suggested that Abby might think of something he hadn't. Abby worked better when she thought she was proving her superiority, especially with Tim. Because he was the computer guy, it was like she thought that Tim was competition. He didn't get it, but he wasn't above using it to his advantage.

"What? That's a challenge I'd have thought Tim would know better than to make. I'll find him, Gibbs. Somehow."

Gibbs smiled and kissed her on the cheek. Abby may or may not be able to find Tim, but she wouldn't be worrying the way Gibbs himself would be. At some point, they'd have to tell her about the possible dangers, but right now, while they didn't know exactly how serious it all was, telling Abby the potential would do more harm than good.

"Don't tell anyone."

"Right. I won't, Gibbs. Not until I get him."

" _If_ you get him," Gibbs said.

"Don't you start on me, now! I'll get him!"

Gibbs left Abby to her plans and headed back to the elevator. When the doors opened, Tony was standing there. Gibbs raised an eyebrow and stepped on. Tony closed the doors and sent the elevator up, but stopped it very quickly.

"Boss, what are we going to do?"

"When?" Gibbs asked.

"You're having Abby see if she can track him down. Tim quit. He doesn't want our help. He's tried to make it so that we can't find him at all. If Abby does find him, what are we going to do? Are we going to help him when he doesn't want us to or are we going to try to bring him in? And how will you bring him in if he doesn't want to come? Will you arrest him?"

Gibbs raised his eyebrow again.

"Come on, Boss. Tim isn't going to give up on this until he _knows_ that his dad is safe. We know that's how he is. He broke the rule of interrupting you in interrogation because of his sister. He almost quit to help her, even when there was no reason to think that you'd be going after her. He broke the law to keep her out of NCIS when it was just a matter of us trying to figure out what was going on! Here, he _knows_ that his dad is going to be on trial. He knows how serious this could be. He won't listen if you try to tell him to stop. What are we going to do?"

"Don't know yet."

"Then, why are we going to do anything at all?" Tony asked, seriously.

It was a genuine question and a good one. To someone else, it might sound like Tony was saying they shouldn't get involved, but Gibbs knew that wasn't it. Tony _did_ want to help. He thought that Tim needed them, but it was important to know why they were looking for him. The answer couldn't just be because Gibbs wanted to ream Tim for trying to leave them out of it. It was more than that. A lot more. (Although Gibbs wasn't above reaming Tim for trying to leave them out of it, no matter what else they ended up doing.)

"Because McGee needs our help. Just because he doesn't want it doesn't mean he doesn't need it."

"What kind of help?"

"Don't know yet."

"Are you sure we should find him?" Tony asked, finally.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because they will. Eventually, whoever is calling the shots will figure out what McGee is doing and they'll go looking. And they'll find him. No matter what McGee is doing to hide himself, he can't hide forever. Mr. McGee thinks that his son could be in danger."

Tony's expression changed a little. "He knows what's going on, doesn't he?"

"But not _who_."

"Yeah, but this is from _his_ world. He knows what's possible. If he thinks Tim is going to be in trouble, then, I'd probably believe him."

"Me, too."

"How bad do you think this is going to be, Boss?"

"Bad."

"You think Vance'll let us do anything?"

Gibbs smiled a little.

"As long as we don't ask."

"But if we find him..."

"Rule 18."

Tony smiled.

"Okay."

He reached over and turned the elevator back on. They went back up to the bullpen and it was time to work. The best way to make sure Vance didn't say anything was to keep up with their regular job. Then, he would have no reason to complain or give orders for them to stop.

The main problem that Gibbs could see was exactly what Tim himself had said. Tim didn't want to be found and he had taken steps to make sure he wasn't. Gibbs didn't doubt that this was a sincere desire, and Tim had more than a decade of working as an investigator, tracking down people who didn't want to be found. He knew what they tried. He knew what worked, and, more importantly, he knew what was done to find them because he'd done so much of it himself. If he was sincere about not wanting them to find him, then, he would have used all that experience to keep himself hidden.

The worst part was that Gibbs had to admit that he might not be able to get around that, but he was almost positive that, if there was something that the government (at any level, whether a person or a group of people) wanted hidden, that they'd be able to track Tim down with resources Gibbs simply didn't have.

All in all, Gibbs was feeling a little pessimistic at this point, but he didn't want to share that with Tony because it was important that they go into it with confidence. He might have to break his rule that he'd quoted to Tony and see what Vance might be willing to do for Tim, legally...or illegally.

But not yet.

There was too much at stake, here. Not only was Tim's career at stake, but his father's freedom, too. Gibbs knew that, if they tried to set Sam's problem to the side, Tim would never listen to anything they might have to say. His focus was going to be on his father, and that meant that they'd have to take that on, too, but not by doing the investigation themselves. It would have to be in a support role, understanding that Tim's focus was _not_ going to be on himself. Tim would be hyper-focused on his father and that meant that he really needed someone to be focused on him. He probably knew that, but he'd never admit it. He'd probably feel that it was selfish.

To be honest, it was kind of a shock that Tim had done this. Even with their experience with Sarah, there was really nothing that had hinted at Tim's determination to save his father, to have no faith in the system to work right.

Then, he paused in his thoughts. That wasn't true. Tim _had_ hinted at a lack of trust in the system in that very same case.

" _And we say better ten guilty men go free than one innocent be punished, but I know from personal experience that it doesn't always work like that."_

He'd grown up knowing that the system had failed his father once. Why would he have any faith in having it do something different this time around?

Of course, at the time, Gibbs hadn't known about Tim's father and he'd assumed that Tim was talking about himself when he was accused of killing Benedict. The system had failed him, too. Or at least, it had almost failed him. It had been a very close call, and even now, Gibbs wasn't sure if Tim had really accepted what had happened back then. Now that he thought about it, Gibbs realized that Tim had seen the system nearly fail far too many times and it had only been by sheer tenacity or by bending the rules that they'd managed to get things back on track. More than once, it had been Tim's own stubbornness that had led to them sticking with it.

No, Gibbs was seeing more and more that, as reckless as it seemed, there was really no other way that Tim could have reacted to this situation than to do what he was doing.

If only he wasn't insisting on doing it alone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat back, a little frustrated. He'd known that it was unlikely that there would be any information in the NCIS files, but he'd hoped for something to get him started, something that wouldn't require hacking. There had been no NCIS investigation into his father's situation, but then, that shouldn't have surprised him. With this being Top Secret, it would have been taken care of in house.

Then, he had another thought. He hadn't really planned on just reading his dad's file, but why not? Maybe there would be something there to give him a hint of who might be pulling the strings, or even what had happened.

After that, he might have to start gearing up to hack into the DoD. He wasn't sure if everything he needed would be in the Department of the Navy, but he knew that the impending charges would be coming from somewhere in there. They had to be.

He jumped back into the NCIS database and did a search. Technically, what he was doing wasn't really illegal right now, anyway. This wasn't classified. It was just information.

First thing he saw was his dad's official photo. He smiled a little at how much younger Sam looked, how much straighter and how much healthier he was. Now, even at his best, Sam had a lot of health problems which went back to his paralysis. He was strong, but his body had more weaknesses than it should considering how careful Sam was about caring for himself.

It was still a little depressing to realize that the man his father could have been was gone, lost in the accident that had nearly killed them both.

Shaking his head, Tim pushed that to the side. The accident, his father being paralyzed, all of that was barely even tangential to what he wanted to find. When Sam had been ousted from the Navy, he had been walking and Tim couldn't drive. He'd only been seven years old. So Tim could forget about that, not think about that time period. It didn't matter for what he was looking for.

He started to read the file.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"They're not telling us everything," Sam said as they walked back down the hall.

"Of course not," Charlie said with a shrug. "It's Top Secret. We probably won't know until we're actually there...wherever there is."

"I don't know. I don't like this, Charlie. We don't get to know who's calling the shots. We don't get to know the mission. We don't even get to know the location. How are we supposed to be adequately prepared for something that is kept so secret we don't get to know what it is? I don't like it."

"You could have said no."

Sam was shaking his head before Charlie finished speaking.

"No. When I got into special ops, I took an oath, and I'm sticking with it. This is just feeling less like special ops and more like black ops." He paused and looked around. No one was close by. "This much secrecy makes me wonder if it's something that shouldn't be done. Maybe this is illegal."

"Careful what you say and who you say _that_ to," Charlie said in a low voice. "If you're wanting to make admiral, you have to learn to toe the line. I don't think these people will be too happy about being crossed...or questioned."

"I know how to toe the line, Charlie, but I also know how to question whether the line is in the right place, and I'm not sure this one is."

"If you feel that way about it, I'll volunteer to be on site. You can be base."

"It won't make a difference. They've already made their choice." Then, Sam forced a smile. "Besides, we both know who's better at roughing it. You're much too delicate to risk your pretty face." He patted Charlie's cheek.

Charlie swatted his hand away.

"Don't get carried away, old man. Seriously, though, it's going to be dangerous out there. You've got a family, and you know that Naomi won't want you doing this."

"I know. That's why I'm not going to tell her...since I don't know anything right now, anyway."

"Yeah. We've got six months to prepare for the unknown."

"Let's get started."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

"Sam, Ed is on the phone."

Sam just sighed and stared out the hotel window.

"Take a message, Naomi. I'm not in the mood to talk about work."

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not work Ed wants to talk about, and you know it."

"Not sure I want to talk about that, either," Sam said, but he straightened and turned around.

Naomi was looking at him sympathetically. She raised her eyebrows and held out the phone. He nodded and took the phone.

"Hey, Ed."

" _Doesn't sound like it's going well,"_ Ed said.

"For me, it hasn't really started, but...I'm worried about Tim."

" _Tim? Why? They couldn't possibly pull him into this, could they? He was, what, three when all this happened?"_

Sam smiled. "Seven, actually. No, he's...pulled himself into it. I can't tell you more than that."

" _No need. I don't know all of what's going on, but I do know that, whatever the situation is, you must be the one in the right. I can't imagine you doing anything that was genuinely, morally wrong."_

"Ed, did Naomi put you up to this? Calling me to boost my self-esteem?"

Ed chuckled. _"No. Not a chance. I'm just a smart guy."_

"Smart because you know I'm innocent or smart because you knew to call and give me a boost without Naomi telling you, first?"

" _You can choose. Don't worry about us up here, Sam. We can handle the rest of the semester."_

"And more?"

" _If necessary. Sam, I know you can't tell me much, but is there anything you_ can _tell me about all this?"_

"That if it goes to trial, you may be pressured to fire me."

" _That bad?"_

"Yeah."

" _Well, then...let me quote your idol: 'You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life.' Winston Churchill didn't have it easy, but he got Britain through World War Two."_

Sam couldn't help but smile. Ed didn't often fall into quoting. He let Sam do it.

"I didn't realize I still had them. I thought thirty years was enough time to get rid of them. I mean, couldn't they just all be dead by now?"

" _It's never enough time to get rid of real enemies. Just like real friends. No time is enough."_

"That seems to be the case this time."

" _Sam, your job is waiting for you. Whenever you can come back. It'll take more than a court martial to get me to want to get rid of you."_

"Thanks, Ed."

" _No problem. Just focus on what you've got to do. That'll be enough, even for you."_

"Bye, Ed."

" _Bye, Sam."_

Sam hung up and looked at Naomi.

"So did you call him?"

Naomi smiled. "It doesn't matter whether I did or not. You feel better."

"Marginally."

"I'll take that, for now."

"We still haven't told Sarah," Sam said. "And now, with Tim gone, too..."

"Yeah. She'll be very upset, but she also can't get back here easily and there's nothing she can do to help with this."

"She'll still be ticked off that we never told her," Sam said.

"But not in the same way Tim is. And how much will we tell her about what Tim is doing?"

"As little as possible," Sam said. "But we'll have to say something to her. We can't hide the fact that Tim is UA."

"Definitely not. We might have a chance of talking her into staying in England until and unless there's an actual trial."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. She won't really _want_ to be here, but she'll feel like she _should_ want to be here. Unlike Tim who genuinely wants to be here and is forcing us to involve him." He chuckled a little. "How in the world did we end up with two so incredibly different children?"

"We're just lucky, I guess," Naomi said. "Of course, I feel like they came with their own personalities. We just had to figure them out. Thankfully, they gave us that time."

"Of course, we're still figuring them out."

"Yes, we are. That's what keeps it exciting. I'll call Sarah tomorrow and let her know the basics. I'll try to convince her that she won't be betraying us to stay in England and we'll go from there."

"Sounds good."

Sam turned back to the window and stared out at the darkening skies.

"Where do you think he is?"

"I don't know. He said that he would be moving around a lot. Where he is today isn't necessarily where he'll be tomorrow."

"I still hate that he's doing this, and I just wish I could stop him. What if I just gave in?"

"Gave in?"

"Threw myself on the mercy of the military tribunal. No trial. No chance for Tim to ruin his life trying to save mine. It would be over so quickly that Tim wouldn't have time to go too far."

"No. Sam, you can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be wrong, and it wouldn't help Tim," Naomi said, firmly. "It might stop him from throwing away his career, but it wouldn't stop him from ruining his life. I don't agree with what Tim is doing, but you know as well as I do that trying to stop him like that isn't going to work. He'd keep going and he'd only be more desperate to save you because you'd be in prison. Maybe you're right and they wouldn't go for the death penalty, but we don't know how far this will go, and I won't see you extradited for something you didn't do simply because the only other witness is a lying piece of–"

"Don't start that again, Naomi," Sam interrupted. "We don't even know if Charlie is still alive."

"It doesn't matter whether he is or not. I'll never forgive him. Never. He sat by your hospital bed, made us think he cared, but in the end, none of that mattered. All he cared about was saving his own skin, never mind what it could have done to you...and he didn't even have a family. He knew that by ruining your life, he'd be ruining ours, too."

"I'm not enamored with him, either, but let's not make things more complicated by thinking about him, too. If we never see him, we don't have to think about him, either."

"What if they find him and use him as a witness again?"

"We'll deal with that, if it happens," Sam said. "But I'd be surprised if they used him. He was part of the operation, too. If they use him as a witness, he'll be asked very difficult questions by my lawyer. They know that."

Naomi took a breath and calmed down.

"All right. We'll try to stay away from that topic."

"Good," Sam said.

Then, he looked out the window again. How far would Tim really be willing to go?

How far had he gone already?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim sat back and looked at his screen. His father's military file was interesting in more ways than one. From a completely personal point of view, it was interesting to see what his father's military career had been like. Tim had never felt comfortable asking for details, even when he was older. Knowing, as he had, that his father's time in the Navy had ended badly, it had seemed wrong to ask about it. It seemed like it was reminding him of a time he wanted to forget. Whether it was true or not, Tim had felt that way and so being able to get all these details was a big change.

He could see when his father's service had begun, his exemplary performance in the NROTC, his graduation, his promotions.

One thing that didn't surprise Tim, but that he hadn't really known, was that Sam had been on the fast track. He achieved every promotion at the earliest time possible. His work in special operations had begun before he'd been promoted to Commander, but the information on those missions was still classified, although not all of them were Top Secret.

He wasn't really thinking he'd get the information he'd need from his father's 201 file, but he had the chance to get some other names.

For instance, Sam had been recommended for promotion to Commander by Rear Admiral Thomas Jackson. He didn't know who had been on the promotion board, but Sam's rise through the Navy ranks had been as quick as it could have been. In fact, this Admiral Jackson came up more than once in Sam's file. He seemed to have been involved in multiple aspects of Sam's military life.

Curious, Tim looked up Thomas Jackson. It had been thirty years. Obviously, he'd be retired, but was he still alive?

Quickly, Tim found the file and was disappointed. Rear Admiral Jackson had died about eight and a half years ago.

The question now was which way to go next. Tim looked at his father's file again. Maybe the next step would be to find out just what Sam had done as part of the special ops missions. He'd been involved in them for about five years. No wonder Tim didn't have any real memory of his dad doing anything else.

For now, though, his battery was running low, it was getting dark and he knew he should start thinking about sleep. However, he wasn't exactly _excited_ about the prospect of sleeping in this rundown shack. He knew it was his choice. He knew that he had expected this. It was just that the reality of it was difficult to deal with. He really wasn't that kind of guy. Scouting experience notwithstanding, he just didn't really enjoy roughing it.

Still, this was the best he had. He would deal with it. Besides, with a roof over his head, this would not be considered roughing it by anyone with even a modicum of real camping experience. The roof might be in danger of falling in on him, but it was still a roof. There was a floor beneath him. There was a door he could close. This wasn't really roughing it. He was just being a wimp.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't really eaten anything all day. So he shut down his computer, turned on a flashlight, got out some snacks and water and sat on the floor to eat.

As he did so, he couldn't help wondering just how long this would take. Could he last as long as it might take to resolve everything satisfactorily?

"Yes," he said aloud. "I'll do whatever it takes, for however _long_ it takes. I have a roof over my head and if the food isn't great, it's enough. That's all I need."

He supposed that if he got sent to prison, at least the food would be better than this.

At the same time, his stomach churned a bit at the thought of serving time. Cops didn't tend to do very well when imprisoned with, potentially, some of the people they'd helped put away. If he did get caught and when he did turn himself in, he couldn't imagine that he'd be treated with much sympathy. Why would they be easy on him? He would not only be breaking the law, he'd be doing so in order to break up their plans. All in all, he couldn't see that anything would turn out well for him in the long run.

"But it will for Dad and that's what matters," Tim said aloud, hoping that he would keep believing it. He couldn't lose his resolve, couldn't stop before the task was completed.

He finished eating and cleaned up the wrappers. He didn't know how much wildlife was in these parts, but he did know that there had been bears here in the past. He didn't really want to invite any extra problems...like getting mauled by a bear. So he took the wrappers, put them in a sandwich bag and then carried them outside and stored them in a box at the edge of the clearing. Hopefully, that would keep any unwanted visitors away from the shack. Then, he hooked up his laptop to the battery for recharging. It should take a few hours, and it would be safer to have it out in the trunk. That task done, it was almost full dark and he went back inside to get ready to sleep. He unrolled his sleeping bag. It was plenty warm enough and the pad would give him a little bit of protection from the hard floor. He climbed into his sleeping bag, pulled a pillow over and turned off the flashlight.

Immediately, the cabin was plunged into darkness. And this was _real_ darkness. Because of the trees, very little light was present, not even from the night sky, because the trees blocked out that light as well as any lights from civilization. It felt _too_ dark. Tim was used to lights, even just as a faint glow, no matter the time of day or night. It felt like there was absolutely no light at all. It made him more than a little nervous.

Sternly, he told himself that there was no reason to feel like that. He wasn't a child afraid of the dark. He wasn't in danger. He was just lying on an old, rotting floor, in the middle of nowhere, attempting to keep his life as normal as possible...while ignoring all the things that made his life normal.

But none of that mattered. He would not let himself become distracted by things not being comfortable.

He closed his eyes (not that it made much of a difference) and tried to get to sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Sam, I don't..." Naomi stopped.

"You don't like it. I know."

"And you don't like it, either. I can tell by the look on your face. How long?"

"Training starts now. We'll ship out in about six months."

"And how long?"

"Don't know. I really don't know, Naomi," Sam said. "I don't even know what the mission is yet. And when I do, I can't tell you."

"I know," Naomi said. "I don't like it, Sam. Why do you have to do this? It's not what you signed on for. It's not what _I_ signed on for."

She stood up and started walk out of the room, but Sam stood and grabbed her hand.

"Naomi, wait."

Naomi did stop, but she didn't turn around.

"This is putting me on the fast track. If I show that I can handle these types of missions, I'll be promoted to captain before you know it."

"I don't care what your rank is, Sam. I know you care about that, but I don't. I care that you're going to come home at night." She turned around. "I care that I don't have to face the possibility of receiving a folded flag and the gratitude of a thankful nation."

Then, she looked outside. Sam followed her gaze and he saw Tim lying on his back in the yard, staring up at the sky. It didn't look like he was doing anything at all, but knowing Tim, his mind was probably going a million miles an hour.

"I care that your son doesn't spend any time with his father. I care that he's not even sure what makes you his father. _That's_ what I care about, Sam."

Then, she pulled her hand from his and left the room.

Sam sighed. In reality, he understood how she felt, and when it came to Tim, even Sam agreed that he didn't spend enough time with his son. It wasn't that he didn't want to. Tim was precocious and he was at that age when he was soaking up every little thing.

The problem was how much time these missions took up. Maybe this should be the last one. Surely, he'd proven his ability and his determination by what he'd done so far. That should be enough. But maybe it would _never_ be enough. What was enough in a situation like this?

"After this one," he said to himself. "I'll take stock of what I want and what I need. One more mission."

But for now, maybe it would be best to spend some time with his son. It wouldn't be enough, but it would be something. He nodded and headed outside. Tim was still lying where Sam had seen him before. His gaze was fixed on the sky and he seemed absolutely enthralled by it. Sam looked up. He didn't see anything warranting that kind of expression on his son's face. It was just blue sky with fluffy clouds.

"Tim, what are you looking at?"

Tim didn't jump up as he sometimes did when Sam came home. He just gestured.

"Come over here, Daddy. Look!"

"What am I looking at?" Sam asked.

"Look!"

The little six-year-old hand grabbed at his pants and pulled. Smiling, Sam lay down on the ground beside his son and looked up at the sky.

"What am I looking at?" he asked again.

"The sky, silly!"

Sam laughed.

"Okay. Why?"

"I learned about clouds today in school," Tim said, his voice full of awe. "Did you know that clouds are water? Did you know that when we see clouds, we're really seeing water and dirt? They're so white and fluffy, but they're just water and dirt! And when they get full of water, do you know what happens?"

"It rains."

"Yeah! Isn't that cool? When they get full of water, they rain. They rain until they're not full anymore. When it's cold, instead of raining, it snows, and it snows until the water is gone because snow is just frozen water! That's weather! Water and dirt!"

"So what kind of clouds are we seeing right now, Tim?" Sam asked.

"These are cumulus clouds," Tim said, triumphantly. "They're the clouds that come with good weather. But if they get really big and really full, then, they're cumulo... cumulonimbus clouds. Those are storm clouds. That's a hard word to say, but I said it. Did I say it right? Cu-mu-lo-nim-bus," he said again, enunciating each syllable.

"Perfect," Sam said.

Abruptly, Tim sat up and looked at Sam. Sam sat up as well. He seemed very earnest.

"Cumulus clouds are nice weather clouds, but sometimes, they can turn into..." he paused on the syllables again. "...cu-mu-lo-nim-bus clouds. So can we go to the park and swing while it's nice?"

Sam laughed at the logic and nodded. Tim smiled happily and ran inside to tell Naomi, and Sam smiled after him. For a moment, he looked up at the clouds in the sky above and wondered at the fascination Tim had...and he wondered how long that fascination would last. They were just clouds.

Or not. To a child, every bit of information was new and amazing.

Even the fact that clouds were made out of dirt and water. He remembered a quote he'd read just the other day. At the time, he hadn't really thought about it in terms of his son, but now, it seemed exactly right.

"'People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child – our own two eyes. All is a miracle.' Thich Nhat Hanh. And what a world he sees," Sam said softly to himself as he looked up at the sky.

"Daddy! Come on!" Tim shouted. "I want to swing!"

"I'm coming, Tim!"

Sam ran inside the house.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present.._.

Gibbs waited for the telltale sound of someone coming into his house. He knew they'd be here. They had to be able to talk like they couldn't at work, for fear of tipping someone off. Not knowing who might be listening in made it difficult to be sure about security.

He knew they'd be coming, but while he waited, he started smoothing some planks. Even when he had no project in mind, he enjoyed planing his wood. There was something relaxing and satisfying about it because, at the end, he might not have a project completed, but he had smooth pieces of wood ready to be added to a project, whatever that project would be. Sometimes, he had planed too much wood and ended up starting a project just to use it up. It always turned out nice, but it was something he tried to avoid. He worked on this stuff because he enjoyed it, not because he had to.

He heard his front door open and close. One set of footsteps across the floor. It was a very precise tread. Gibbs smiled to himself. There weren't too many people who walked in a way that could genuinely be described as _precise_. In fact, he really only knew one.

The basement door opened.

"Gibbs, why do you always contact me for the bad ones?"

Gibbs looked up. "Nice to see you, too, Captain Coleman. It's been a while. Congratulations on the promotion."

Faith Coleman was still in her uniform and she looked more than a little irritated. Of course, she always looked a little irritated when Gibbs asked her for help because, as she said, it was always with the bad ones, or at the very least, the complicated, morally gray ones.

"Thank you," she said tersely and walked down the stairs with that same precise step.

"You shouldn't be so good at your job."

"Lucky for you, I am."

"You find out anything?"

Faith walked over to a stool, wiped it off with a cloth and then sat down.

"Not much, which, in and of itself, tells me that you're getting into something you shouldn't get into. If this is genuine, then, the people in charge are playing very coy. I only found one person who would even admit that the case was coming up. How in the world do you know about it?"

"Vance...via SecNav."

Her eyes widened very slightly.

"It's higher than I thought. Why would SecNav be informed about a trial of a retired Naval commander who is currently a paraplegic? The fact that he's in a wheelchair should be enough to make this something that happens off radar. People don't like to see someone with disabilities sent to military prison, no matter what the situation is."

"Or executed?"

"That hasn't happened in a long time, Gibbs."

"Apparently, it's a possibility this time."

"Extradition is more likely."

"To where?"

"I don't know that."

"Could be worse."

"Yes, it could. If this goes to trial, it'll be public. There's no way for it not to be. Whoever is doing this must be pretty confident that they'll win and that they can spin it right."

"Could just be playing off current attitudes towards anyone involved in the military. They present it right, it would be a military man abusing his power finally getting taken down. People love seeing that."

"True enough," Faith said, nodding. "I'll be honest, Gibbs. I don't know if I'm ready to stick my neck out when I don't know the chances of losing my head. A general court martial, unknown players. This is a bad situation, and I don't know too many JAG lawyers who will want to take this on."

"Are you saying no?" Gibbs asked, actually feeling a little disappointed. He didn't have too many people in JAG he could call on, and to have Faith being reticent meant that most others would probably say no outright. Of course, Sam already had a lawyer, but military court wasn't the same as civilian court.

"No, I'm not saying no. I'm saying that I'm not yet ready to say yes. If he already has a lawyer, then, he at least has someone available to give him legal advice. He can refer to me if he needs any help with military court, but until I have a better view of the lay of the land, I'm going to proceed more cautiously."

"And what will you do to find that?"

"I'll poke around a little, but you can bet I'm going to be careful about who I ask questions. I'd advise you to do the same. What about your Agent McGee? This is his father, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You'd better make sure he's on a short leash. These things can get ugly and he might get pulled into it if he's not careful."

Gibbs suppressed a grimace. Faith was more right than he could let her know. Right now, the fewer who knew Tim's intent, the better.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. I'll be in touch. If there's anything else, let me know, but don't call me at work. Until the trial becomes public, there are a lot of things that can happen behind the scenes," Faith said. Her expression was grim. "I know you know this already, Gibbs, but there are things in our country's past that the powers that be don't want brought to light. Look at the world's reaction to spying. Everyone knows that the only reason for the other countries to be upset about it was that they can't admit that they're either doing the same thing or are trying to do the same thing. But that doesn't matter. They'll attack us for what they simply haven't been able to do themselves. We've done the same thing to China and cyberterrorism. Diplomacy isn't about what's right and what's wrong. It's about what you can get away with. If someone got away with something thirty years ago, they're going to want to keep getting away with it, no matter what that requires."

"I hear you."

"Good. Then, I'll leave you to your crawl space and go home," Faith said. "Next time, offer me a drink. I'm pretty sure I'll be needing it."

Then, she climbed the stairs and opened the door. She paused at the top.

"I get why you're involved in this, Gibbs. If it's personal, I get it. But you should make sure you know what you're getting into because it could be bad."

Gibbs just nodded. Faith walked out without another word. However, Gibbs had heard her, loud and clear. In fact, what he was hearing told him that Faith had found more than she'd shared. The warning was genuine, and her reluctance to get involved was probably genuine, too. Knowing how unflappable she generally was, it told Gibbs more than anything else had just how bad this all might become. There was still a lot up in the air right now. Maybe she had been given direct orders to warn him off. It was a possibility he couldn't ignore. However, he also trusted Faith as much as he could trust any lawyer and he believed that she wouldn't purposely lie to him, even if she didn't tell him everything.

Warning acknowledged, Gibbs knew that he wouldn't be able to back off until he was sure that Tim was all right. And Tim wouldn't be all right until his dad was. So Gibbs was involved all the way. There was no backing down unless Tim did. Tim wouldn't back down if his dad was still in danger.

He grimaced. This wasn't going to be good, but he was going to try to make the outcome as good as possible.

...and then, he could wring Tim's neck for putting them all through this.

He smiled a little to himself and went back to his wood.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Sam! Think fast!"

Sam started to turn and a foam ball hit him right in the face.

"Hey!"

Charlie grinned at him.

"You've been glaring at the list for over an hour. It's not going to change unless _you_ change it. Since you're not ready to do that, take a break and relax."

Sam leaned over and picked up the ball. He sighed and threw it back over his shoulder, out of Charlie's reach. Then, he turned back to his list and started glaring at it again.

The problem was that, without knowing exactly what they were going to be called on to do, Sam was having a hard time figuring out who to choose for his team. There were so many risks involved in doing this, and he didn't want to have to choose people who could, conceivably, end up dead because of it. This was the worst part of special ops. The operations were more dangerous, the stakes higher. He knew that this was part and parcel of being an officer, but the results were much more immediate in these operations.

Suddenly, the ball hit him in the back of the head. He spun around.

"This is serious, Leadore! It's not a joke!"

Charlie wasn't smiling when Sam faced him.

"I know it is, Sam. I understand that, but you have to take a break for yourself. You're in charge of this. I know that, but I'm your backup. I've got your six, and your second in command is telling you that you need to take a break."

Sam took a deep breath to try and relax. He managed to smile a little bit. Charlie walked over and slung his arm around Sam's shoulders.

"Come on, McGee. I know that you don't throw away lives. You know that, too. These tough guys love serving under you because you're good at what you do _and_ you value their lives. They respect you, not because you're an officer."

"Yeah. In spite of that," Sam said.

"Exactly. So you need to set all that aside and relax. In fact, you should go home and spend some time with your family. You've been here for hours already, and you know that Naomi will be annoyed if you're not home for dinner."

Sam sat back and then exhaled loudly and nodded.

"You're right. I'm going home."

"Good choice, Commander McGee."

Sam rolled his eyes and turned back to put away his papers and get them secured for the night. Charlie got up and headed for the door. Then, Sam saw the ball sitting on the table. He smiled and turned around.

"Commander," he said.

Charlie turned, and with perfect timing, Sam threw the ball and got him right in the face.

"You go home, too."

"Ha. You think you'll get away with that? Not in a million years. I'll get you when you least expect it."

Sam grinned. "I'll be expecting that."

Charlie laughed and left the room. Sam's smile faded a little. More and more, he was seeing that he needed to get out of special ops. He just couldn't keep up this level of stress. It was taking its toll, not only on him but on Tim and Naomi as well. They were reacting to his stress, no matter how much he tried to leave work here and not take it home with him. How much of life was he missing with what he was doing? He believed that what he did in the Navy was important, but was it _more_ important than what he was missing?

"'The whole life of man is but a point of time; let us enjoy it, therefore, while it lasts, and not spend it to no purpose.' Oh...who said that?" Sam said aloud. He'd read the quote just the other day. Who _was_ the author? Now, it was going to bother him until he remembered.

All the more reason to go home. His book of quotes was there.

Sam gathered up his stuff and left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Gibbs was working for another hour before his next visitors showed up. It was getting later than he'd expected, but he wasn't in a hurry to get to bed. Instead, he just kept working on his wood, knowing that he would have to figure out something to do with it, soon.

Then, faintly, he heard his door open and close. There were footsteps overhead. He smiled a little. Multiple feet. More than just one person. How many would it be? Tony, definitely. Probably Abby, too. Would Ducky and Jimmy have come along for the ride? Maybe. If they didn't, he'd probably be pulling them into it at some point. More minds bent to the same problem often helped.

The door to the basement opened.

"Boss?"

Gibbs looked up. Tony and Abby. No Ducky or Jimmy...for now. He gestured for them to come down and kept planing his wood.

"I haven't been able to find him, Gibbs," Abby confessed. "Not yet. I'm sure I can figure something out, but...not yet."

"We could trace his car with a BOLO since we know he was driving it to his house, but I don't think we want to be that obvious," Tony said.

"No," Gibbs said, tersely. That would be a bad idea all around. Tim wasn't a criminal yet (Gibbs hoped, anyway), and a BOLO would be an official record that could be traced by the people Sam was afraid of, those anonymous figures who seemed poised to take down a good man and would certainly have no issue with taking down his son as well.

"What if I started looking at satellite images?" Abby suggested.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I know I wouldn't have permission to use them!" she said. "But I think I could get in there without anyone noticing."

He raised it higher. Abby was desperate to prove that Tim couldn't hide from her, and Gibbs wanted her to succeed, but at the same time, it was dangerous to start off that way, jumping right into illegal actions, especially when they didn't know who all the players were yet. He held Abby's gaze, making sure she was paying attention and he shook his head, the warning obvious in his eyes.

Abby sighed dramatically.

"Okay, okay. It was just a thought."

"Not yet," Gibbs said.

"Okay."

"But really, Boss, we need to know what our end goal is, here. Is it to find Tim and bring him in or is it to help him?"

"Both?" Abby suggested.

Tony shook his head. "I don't think it'll work that way. If this is as serious as his dad seems to think it is, then, Tim coming in means that we're arresting him. I doubt he'll be able to do what he's planning while he's in jail."

"We can't arrest him!" Abby said. "Tim can't go to jail! He wouldn't be safe in jail and he doesn't deserve it!"

"If he goes as far as he said he would in his email, then, legally, he would," Tony said.

"And he's expecting it," Gibbs added.

"What do you mean?" Abby asked. Then, her eyes widened. "You mean Tim is _planning_ on going to prison?"

"Probably," Tony said. "Think about it, Abbs. He's quit NCIS just to make sure that none of us get pulled into what he's doing. He's already admitted that he's going to break the law. What else do you think he'd do? He won't be on the run for the rest of his life. He'll turn himself in and accept the consequences. He's probably convinced himself that it's worth it if it saves his dad."

"But we can't _let_ him have those consequences," Abby insisted. "Tim wouldn't make it in prison. You _know_ that!"

"How will we stop him?" Tony asked. Then, he looked at Gibbs again. "That's why we need to know what it is we're planning on doing. I don't want Tim to go to jail, Boss, but if he's determined to do something illegal and these people are powerful, how will we stop that from happening? It's not the same as other times when we could hush things up because the people involved weren't really important."

Gibbs noticed that Tony intentionally didn't mention just _who_ he was talking about, even though they all knew. He suppressed a grimace, even as he acknowledged that Tony was right. Taking down a drug dealer didn't matter to the powers that be because he was a drug dealer. Even if it was wrong, it was still someone who didn't matter. That was why Gibbs had gotten away with something he shouldn't have gotten away with. In this case, the people involved were probably high in the military or at least used to be and that wouldn't sit well for them to be exposed when they were trying to cover their butts by making Sam McGee into a scapegoat.

At the end of the day, though, did any of that really matter? The most important thing was that they couldn't let Tim suffer for what had happened thirty years ago. Even if he ended up going too far, Gibbs knew that they had to help him.

"We're not finding him to arrest him," Gibbs said. "If we find him, it's to help him."

"No matter what?" Tony asked.

"No matter what," Gibbs answered.

Tony looked relieved.

"Good."

"How far are _we_ going to go, then, Gibbs?" Abby asked.

"As far as we have to...but _only_ as far as we _have_ to," Gibbs said, significantly.

"I hear you, Gibbs," Abby said.

"Good. We only talk about this, here. Not at work. Not at all at NCIS."

"What if they start listening in here, too?" Abby asked.

"Have to take that chance."

Tony nodded. "Until we know who's pulling the strings, anyone could be listening in. They could track in on us once they find out that Tim's going after him, but already? That'd be pretty fast, even for a secret government conspiracy. Where do you think he is?"

"Not far from here."

"Logically, he's going to need to be close enough to get back to DC when he's ready," Abby said. "He can't be on the other side of the country. It would be too risky, and Tim would know that. So he'll be close by, but that still means that we have a huge area to search."

"He won't be near his parents," Tony said. "That would put them under more suspicion. It's obvious that he's trying to make sure he's the only one who gets blamed for this."

Abby suddenly started to grin.

"What, Abby?" Tony asked. "I don't like it when you get that look on your face."

"Oh, you love it, Tony, because you know I'm about to be devious."

"What is it, Abbs?" Gibbs asked.

"The easiest way to track in on Tim would be to find his car. It's a nice one. It'll stand out, and..."

"...and wouldn't McGee have thought of that already?"

"Maybe, but he'll have to get around _somehow_. He didn't leave his car here when he went to Ohio, right?"

"Right."

"And we agree that we don't want to arouse suspicion by putting out a BOLO, right?"

"Right."

"Well, why don't we ask someone in Metro to do some discreet checking for us? Who would really expect that?"

"Who are we going to ask, though?" Tony asked. "Last I checked, there weren't too many people at Metro who like us."

"Well, they don't like _you_ , Tony," Abby said with a grin. "But I know for a fact that Ducky does a lot of collaboration with them...and I don't just mean with Jordan."

"You're saying we should send Ducky to be covert? Not exactly my first choice."

"Exactly why it could work!" She looked at Gibbs. "Come on, Gibbs! This is a good idea! You know it is!"

Gibbs considered Abby's proposal. It did make sense, and Ducky wouldn't mind being involved. In fact, he'd probably enjoy it...if he could keep the idea of being discreet in his mind. Ducky was far from stupid, but he was too chatty, sometimes.

"Okay. I'll ask him. Tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll keep looking... _not_ on the satellites. I promise."

Gibbs nodded and watched Tony and Abby leave. They'd figure out some way to track Tim down, but it was going to take some doing, and the longer it took, the worse it could get.

Even while he hoped Tim was safe, a part of him hoped that Tim wasn't just having an easy time of it. Too many people were worried about him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

 _Thirty years ago..._

His frustration finally boiled over into anger. Sam slammed his fist on the table and got to his feet.

"You knew I was in the Navy when you met me, Naomi!" he said, loudly. "I've never hidden who I am. You _knew_ what that meant!"

"No! When we got married, you were in the Navy," Naomi retorted. "You were _not_ going off on crazy missions that could leave you dead with me never knowing what happened! I did _not_ sign on for this!"

"I can't change what I'm doing without changing who I am! The Navy is part of the McGee family. We are Navy people. You don't take that away! I'm not giving up on that! I thought you understood who I am and what matters to me. I'm not throwing away who I am because you now think that what I'm doing is wrong!"

Furious, Sam stormed to the front door, wrenched it open, and then slammed it behind him and he started walking down the street, breathing deeply, trying to calm down. He knew that he shouldn't have lost his temper. He knew that Naomi was worried and that was why she was pushing him on this, but he didn't need to face questioning at home when there was so much stress at work, too.

After a block of walking at a furious pace, Sam calmed down enough to look for a place to sit and continue the process of reducing his anger. There was a small park and he sat down on a bench and took a few more deep breaths. Then, he leaned back and stared up at the sky. Not long ago, Tim had shown him clouds as if they were the most amazing discovery ever. For perhaps the first time in his life, Sam began to think about what he would have done if the Navy hadn't been his focus. He'd never questioned that he'd be an officer in the U.S. Navy. That was who he was. His father had been an admiral. His grandfather had been a captain. The Navy was in his blood. McGees were Navy from birth and were to be promoted as quickly as was possible. His mother had been fond of saying that the ocean was in their blood, that the blood of a McGee would always be salty. Maybe retiring was an option. Maybe. But they were Navy people.

But the idea of _not_ being in the Navy was suddenly making him think. As Naomi had said just today, what he was doing had a much greater chance of leading to injury or death. If that happened, what would he do with the remainder of his life? He was too active to be content to sit and let that be the way things were.

He smiled to himself. If only there was a living to be made by reciting quotations. He'd always loved reading other people's words, and they had stuck in his mind so easily. Poems, speeches, it didn't matter. He just loved words. It wasn't something he'd been able to tell his father about. Admiral McGee had been the quintessential Navy man. He hadn't had time for anything except the military...including his family, most of the time. Sam had loved and respected his father, but at the same time, he had promised himself that he wouldn't be the same distant figure his father had been for so much of his life. ...and yet, wasn't that the way he was headed?

The sun was going down, and Sam knew he needed to go back home and patch things up with Naomi. While they had both been angry and both exchanged words, he felt the need to apologize.

He stood up and faced the sun, and suddenly, a poem popped into his head. It was one that even his father would have appreciated. "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley.

"Out of the night that covers me,  
Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
I thank whatever gods may be  
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance  
I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
Under the bludgeonings of chance  
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
Looms but the Horror of the shade,  
And yet the menace of the years  
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,  
How charged with punishments the scroll,  
I am the master of my fate:  
I am the captain of my soul."

Perhaps Henley's feelings weren't _quite_ the same as his own, but Sam decided that, along with preparing for this mission, he needed to also prepare for the possibility of no longer being in the Navy. He wouldn't quit, but it might become something that was required, rather than chosen.

Decision made, Sam walked back home, much more calmly. He saw the light on inside the house and he didn't delay going inside.

Naomi was waiting by the door.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Naomi smiled slightly. "I shouldn't have yelled at you, either."

They hugged each other gently. All was not repaired yet, but beginning the process was important, as they knew.

"Tim heard us arguing," Naomi said, softly. "He's hiding in his room. I couldn't get him to come out from his bed."

Sam sighed.

"Did you talk to him?"

"A little. He needs you to tell him it's all right. I already have, but he needs to hear it from both of us."

"Okay." Sam pulled back. "Are you going to bed?"

"In a few minutes."

Sam nodded and went up to Tim's room. If they were ever successful in having another child, they'd need to get a larger home. This one only had two bedrooms, and Tim's room was tiny. He knocked on Tim's door.

"Tim, can I come in?"

There was a muffled _yes_.

Sam opened the door and saw the lump on the bed that indicated Tim was hiding under the covers. He was sorry that Tim had heard them, but he could admit that, in the moment, he hadn't thought of Tim's feelings at all. He'd only thought about his anger.

"Tim, will you come out?"

"Are y-y-you still mad?"

Sam winced at Tim's shaky voice. He never wanted to be the one to cause his son to sound like that, to feel like that. He promised himself that he'd never lose his temper like this again.

"No, I'm not still mad, Tim. I'm sorry that you heard us arguing."

The lump moved and Tim sat up. Tears streaked his face and he was holding tightly to a teddy bear which was dressed like a sailor. The sight of his son being so upset tugged at him and Sam walked over to the bed. He sat down by Tim and hugged him tightly. He was grateful that Tim hugged him back.

"I'm so sorry that we scared you, Tim."

"You don't hate Mommy?" he asked.

"No. Never. I love your mother and she loves me. That's actually part of why we were fighting."

Tim's voice was muffled as he buried his face in Sam's shirt.

"I don't understand."

"I know. Sometimes, when people get scared, they cover it by getting mad, too. That's what happened tonight, but it doesn't make it right. We shouldn't have shouted at each other, and we've already said we were sorry to each other."

"You have?"

"Yes. I promise. Do you believe me?"

Tim's head nodded, although he kept his face hidden.

"Tim, would you like to hear a poem?"

Tim nodded again.

Sam smiled. He was about to recite "Invictus" again, but then, he remembered a better one.

"It's by Robert Frost. Do you remember him?"

"He's the one who said that...the world would end in fire or ice," Tim said, haltingly.

"That's right. He wrote another poem called 'The Road Not Taken.'"

Tim finally sat up and looked at him.

"Do you h-have it memorized?"

"Of course," Sam said, forcing his usual smile, hoping to get Tim to relax enough to listen and maybe even fall asleep.

"Tell me."

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,  
And sorry I could not travel both  
And be one traveler, long I stood  
And looked down one as far as I could  
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, just as fair  
And having perhaps the better claim,  
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;  
Though as for that the passing there  
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay  
In leaves no step had trodden black.  
Oh, I kept the first for another day!  
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,  
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh  
Somewhere ages and ages hence:  
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —  
I took the one less traveled by,  
And that has made all the difference."

Sam recited the poem, keeping his voice soft and low. He spoke slowly to help Tim relax from his fear. By the end of the poem, short as it was, Tim was drooping a little. Sam lay his son down on the bed and stood up to leave.

"Do you like that path, Daddy?" Tim asked, sleepily.

Sam looked back.

"Any path that has you and your mother on it is the best path in the world. Good night, Tim."

Tim yawned and his eyes closed. Sam let himself out of the room and closed the door. He was surprised to see Naomi standing there in the hallway.

"You have such a way with him," she said.

Instead of that leading to another plea for him to be home more, Naomi just rubbed Sam's shoulder and then went to their bedroom.

Sam looked back at his son's room. There weren't enough hours in the day for all that he wanted out of life, and he hadn't yet figured out what to prioritize, but there was that connection he felt with his son, every time he saw him. Tim hadn't expressed any interest in the ocean or in the Navy, not once, but when Sam wondered if he should push it, he looked at how happy Tim generally was and he put it off.

There was time.

For now, it was getting late, and it was time to get ready for bed. With one more sigh, Sam turned down the light in the hallway and followed after Naomi into their bedroom.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

A sudden sound woke Tim up very abruptly. He sat up in the pitch black, looking around, trying to discern some kind of movement. He fumbled for his flashlight and then hesitated. Would it be better or worse if he turned the light on? What would be best? If there was something out there, maybe the light would scare it away. ...but if there _was_ something out there, the light might only serve to show where potential prey was.

Were there predators out here? Tim really didn't know. He sat frozen in place, listening for a repeat of whatever sound it had been that had awakened him.

Right at this moment, Tim wanted nothing more than to have someone there to tell him it was okay. Yes, he was an adult, but he had deliberately put himself in a situation far outside his comfort zone and his experience. What had made logical sense before was currently seeming to be absolute idiocy.

Then, he heard a soft creak.

It was _inside_. Whatever had made the sound was inside the shack _with_ him.

Now, Tim was terrified, but whatever was moving didn't sound very large. Still, he decided that he _had_ to see what it was. Turning toward the sound, he flicked on the flashlight.

The invader froze in place.

They looked at each other for a few seconds.

Then, Tim started to laugh, mostly out of relief.

"A cat!" he said and let out a loud exhale. "Oh, it's just a cat."

The cat in question didn't look too thrilled about being caught. Tim knew that there were feral cats all over the place and they weren't necessarily too friendly, but he'd take a feral cat over a bobcat. Still, he didn't really want the cat there at all. Feral or tamed, Tim was pretty sure his allergies wouldn't know the difference.

"Go on. Shoo!" he said and gestured.

The cat didn't seem impressed by that. It sat down and stared impudently at him.

"Look, I'm in here. You're not welcome. Get out of here!"

The cat still sat there. Tim sighed. He figured that the cat was unlikely to hurt him if he didn't hurt it, but he still didn't want to have it in the shack with him.

"Fine. You're asking for it."

He got to his feet and ran at it. The cat scampered off into the darkness. Tim stopped running instantly, not really wanting to hurt the cat or anything, just wanting it to leave. He walked back to his makeshift bed. He sat down with a thump and let out a whoosh of air. His heart was still pounding. He looked at his watch.

Just after four a.m. Would it be worth it to try to sleep again? Probably not. Tim stood up again and walked outside to find a convenient tree. It was pretty chilly, so he hurried as quickly as he could and went back into the shack. It wasn't particularly warm in there, either, but it was warmer than outside. He sat down and turned off the flashlight, wanting the battery to last as long as possible. He sat silently in the darkness, wondering what he should do later. ...but why wait until later? He was awake now, and he wasn't going back to sleep. There was no reason to keep normal hours. What was normal in this situation anyway? His laptop would definitely be recharged by now. He could get to work now.

Decision made, Tim got up again and made his way out to the car. He got his laptop out and the extra laptop battery. He grabbed some snacks to eat. Then, he went back inside and sat down. Water and granola bars and fruit snacks. Not great, but tolerable. He started eating while his laptop booted up.

Then, he thought about what someone might see from the road if they passed while it was still dark. Would the glow of his laptop be visible? That would _not_ be a good thing. Most people probably wouldn't even look over to notice, but it was a possibility and successful hiding depended on taking all those factors into account. So he set down his laptop and crept out of the shack. Watching for any cars approaching, he walked out to the road and looked back at the shack.

He grimaced. The glow was faint, but it was discernible. All it would take was one car passing and the person noticing. He'd have to take some extra precautions. He could be sure to shield his monitor and turn down the brightness to the lowest setting. In the darkness, it wouldn't matter so much anyway. Then, once the sun came up, no one would notice during the day.

He'd do his best.

Tim crept back to the shack and shifted his setup around. He made sure that the laptop screen faced the back wall rather than the front or the side. He turned down the brightness. Then, he grabbed a blanket and draped it over his head and over the laptop. That should take care of any glow. Besides, while it was springtime and the temperatures weren't dropping below freezing, it wasn't all the warm in here and the extra protection would be a good thing as far as Tim's personal comfort went.

The laptop was waiting for him to do something with it. Tim decided to follow his thought from the day before. This Admiral Thomas Jackson seemed like an important person for his father's career. He wouldn't just give out recommendations willy-nilly. Maybe he wouldn't matter in the long run, but right now, Tim felt that he should know more about him and what his responsibilities had been. First, he logged into NCIS and got the basic information so that he could decide what to hack, first.

For a moment, Tim grimaced at the thought. It wasn't that he'd never hacked before. It was just that it had been a long time since he'd hacked without official sanction to do so. Like many other computer geeks, he'd dabbled in places he probably shouldn't have been. Never anything really serious, but he'd got into systems illegally, although not for years...except as he'd been told to by his superiors.

It was kind of funny because Tony thought of him as being such a straight-laced, uptight guy who always did everything by the rules. And Tim did try to work that way, but he'd had his moments in the past. Moments that he'd never tell Tony about. Most of them had been while he was at MIT. Some of the things he and his buddies had done proved the saying that a group is only as smart as its dumbest member. There was always that one guy who said, "Hey! What if we tried..." and, of course, they'd all thought it was a great idea and they did it. They'd never been caught, but it wasn't really because of skill. It was because of dumb luck. Looking back, Tim couldn't believe some of the things the computer geeks had gotten away with.

"Now, I don't have the excuse of dumb friends," Tim said to himself. "I just have to admit that I'm doing something stupid...at least, it would be stupid if I were just doing this for fun."

And that was something he knew he wasn't doing. This was _not_ fun. Not in the least. Pushing that to the side, he refocused on Admiral Jackson's file.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam stood outside the door. He was waiting to be admitted, hopefully, to get some details about what he'd be doing, finally. Maybe _where_ he'd be going. Charlie could be blasé about it, but at the end of the day, he wasn't the one making the decisions or calling the shots. Sam was. He had requested this meeting in the hopes of getting some answers. He didn't know how many answers he'd get, but he hoped for a few.

"Commander McGee?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"The admiral will see you, now."

"Thank you."

Sam straightened and walked into the office. He stopped and saluted.

"Admiral Jackson."

"Commander McGee. I understand you have some questions for me."

"Yes, sir."

"At ease. Have a seat."

Sam relaxed and sat down across from Admiral Jackson.

"Sir, I'm very concerned about this upcoming mission. I don't understand how I can be expected to adequately prepare when I don't know anything about what will be expected of us."

"You know how these missions work, Commander."

"Yes, I do. That's why I need to know something about what's expected."

"What exactly do you want to know?"

Sam made eye contact with Admiral Jackson.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

"I don't feel that I can lead this mission if I'm given nothing. I will not lead men into a situation we're unprepared for. It will likely lead to lives being lost and, while I acknowledge that lives may be lost in any case, I won't be responsible for the deaths of men who wouldn't have died if we had known in advance what we were going to face."

"That's your final word on the matter?"

"Yes, sir. I would rather step aside than do something so irresponsible."

"Even face a demotion for your refusal?"

Sam hesitated. A demotion? No McGee had _ever_ been demoted. Could he really accept that? It would be hard. But no. Not even that could sway him.

"Yes, sir."

Admiral Jackson said nothing for just long enough that Sam worried he'd spoken _too_ freely. He had stopped just shy of accusing his superior of intentionally killing off his subordinates. Still, he wouldn't back down. As the days had gone by with nothing, he had become more and more convinced that this was the right course of action, no matter what the consequences might be for himself. If it saved his men, then, it would be worth it.

"I agree with you, Commander McGee. However, I can't tell everything. Your target will remain classified until you are on site. However, I will tell you that you'll be operating in Central America, very quietly."

"You mean without permission."

"Yes," Admiral Jackson said, but there was a warning in his voice. Sam knew he was getting close to the line. There were more than a few missions that had occurred in Central America. Some had gone very badly in the past and most were of uncertain morality and ethics.

"And the purpose?"

"To send a very clear message. You will be expected to deliver that message in a very definitive way and get out without being caught. We will not acknowledge your mission if you are caught. _You_ will take the consequences."

"I understand that, sir. When will we ship out?"

"It will be another three months, at least. You can anticipate approximately one month on site for your final training efforts, the mission itself and the evacuation. You will receive your final instructions there."

"How noticeable is this message going to be?"

"Very. At least to the right people."

"Do I get to know who the right people are?"

"Not yet."

Sam stifled a sigh, but he nodded.

"Yes, sir."

"Any further questions?"

"One, sir, although I don't know if you'll be at liberty to answer it."

"Yes?"

"Who's calling the shots on this?"

Admiral Jackson raised an eyebrow.

"You're dismissed, Commander."

Sam stood up and saluted.

"Yes, sir."

Then, he walked out of the office, his mind buzzing with conflicting feelings about this situation.

 _You should get out of this, right now, Sam,_ he said to himself. _This is not going to go well. You know it. Admiral Jackson knows it, too, even if he wouldn't say it. This is going to be bad. It probably isn't something we should be doing, at all._

He thought all those things, but even if he stepped aside, the mission would still go on. Since he didn't know exactly _what_ it was, he couldn't exactly demand that they change their plans or threaten them in any way. Heck, he didn't even know who _they_ were.

 _If I stick with this, I'll be making sure that things go as right as they can go. I'll be the one calling the shots on the ground, and I will, even if I have to answer for that later. I can't step aside and pretend that it has nothing to do with me._

At the end of the day, he felt a responsibility to protect the team he'd chosen. He hadn't yet worked with them much, but he had chosen them. They were involved because of him. He couldn't walk away now.

As ambivalent as he was about this, he was _not_ ambivalent about taking care of his men.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Gibbs was awake before sunrise. He got up and headed down to get his coffee. His mind was on Tim, though. This wasn't getting any better that he could see. It just wasn't going to improve unless they could track Tim down and maybe not even then.

Tim just knew too well how to avoid detection because he knew exactly what they would try to do. If he was serious about trying to keep them out of it (and Gibbs had no reason to think otherwise), he would be doing everything he could to make sure that no one, including his friends, could find him. The BOLO might be the only hope they had because Tim might not think they'd try it. He'd know that they wouldn't want to bring the law down on him, but he might not have banked on Abby's idea of using Ducky's Metro connections of all things.

If he dared let Abby hack into satellite feeds, she might be able to track him down, but he didn't want to go that far. Not yet. If they were willing to reveal that they were looking for Tim, they could get permission to look at satellite feeds legally. But it wasn't worth the risk, not while they had no idea who the major players were.

Again, not yet.

He sat, sipping at his coffee for a couple of hours, in no rush to get to NCIS. Instead, he sat, thinking about what the best course of action would be.

Around six-thirty, there was a knock on his front door. Actually, it was more like a thump, rather than a knock. He furrowed his brow. Who would be here so early? Tony, maybe, but he'd just walk in. He wouldn't knock. Abby wouldn't knock, either.

He walked over and opened the door. He raised his eyebrow. Sam was sitting there in his wheelchair. He had a determined expression on his face, but he also managed to look a little sheepish. Gibbs looked at his front step and noticed a rock on the ground. There was also a slight dent in his front door that hadn't been there before. He looked at Sam with a raised eyebrow.

"Good morning, Agent Gibbs. I apologize for the damage to your door. If necessary, I'll pay for any repairs. I have noticed that your house is not wheelchair accessible," Sam said. "Is there anyplace that we could talk, here?"

"Where's your wife?"

"Asleep at the hotel, or at least she was when I left. I may have awakened her when I closed the door. However, she didn't come after me, although I'm sure she'll give me a lecture about leaving her behind when I get back."

"Why are you here?"

Sam was actually quiet for a few seconds, as if he was searching for the right answer to what should have been a simple enough question. Then, he took a breath and looked at him.

"Von Goethe said, 'Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact that he possesses one.' I've failed in that part, at least with my family, but you need to understand as much as possible if you're going to have a chance of doing anything."

"You're going to tell me everything?"

"I can't do that, not and maintain my integrity. But I need to give you some...help. Not for my sake, but for Tim's. You can't help with my situation, and I don't expect you to try. This is for the military court to determine, but Tim is creating a situation that could be worse for him, and he needs someone to get him out of it. I won't be able to convince him, but if you could find him, maybe _you_ could."

Gibbs doubted that.

"How will this help Tim? Do you know where he is?"

For a moment, Gibbs thought that he might just have the in he needed to track Tim down, that even if Sam wasn't sure on the exact location, he would still know where to start, but Sam shook his head.

"No, but I know what he'll likely try...because I know what's in my file. I'm guessing that you don't have permission to investigate any of this?"

"No."

"I assumed as much. There's no reason you would be, but you'll get a sense of what Tim is facing. But I don't want to talk about this in the open. Is there somewhere we can go that will give us a little bit of privacy?"

"You worried about being followed or monitored?"

Sam smiled. "P. J. O'Rourke said, 'A little government and a little luck are necessary in life, but only a fool trusts either one of them.' I don't know if they've started watching me yet, but I'm sure it's coming, and I don't want to try my luck when I don't have to. If it's necessary, I'll risk quite a bit, but not when it's not."

"Your chair okay over rough surfaces?"

"Well, depends on how rough. Generally, I can do okay, but I'm more likely to sink into a lawn than roll over it if it's wet at all."

Gibbs looked at Sam's wheelchair. It was a nice one, if Gibbs was any judge. (He really wasn't. He didn't know much about wheelchairs.) It seemed to be a streamlined design, meant for ease of use. There was a bit of whimsy to it as well. The wheelchair frame was a bright red with a patterned surface. It looked very lightweight.

"I have a backyard."

Sam leaned over to look around the house.

"I might fit through there. I'm willing to try it, if you're willing to help me out."

"Okay."

"I generally like to pave my own way, but I'll let you take the wheel, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

Gibbs opened the gate to the back and then carefully pushed Sam around. The space was pretty narrow, but the wheelchair fit, mostly because of how small it was. Once Sam was safely on the back patio, Gibbs closed the gate and walked back himself.

"Want any coffee?"

"I'll take what you give me," Sam said. "I'm pretty much running on an adrenaline high already and have been for weeks, but another shot of caffeine won't hurt. I'm guessing you take it black?"

"Yep."

"Good. Nothing fancy, I would guess. Naomi puts so much cream in hers that I don't know how she can tell it's coffee. She's tried to corrupt me over the years, and she's succeeded to some degree, but every so often, I get a craving for strong, black coffee."

Gibbs smiled. "That's what I've got."

"Sounds great. Don't tell my son about this. I tease him about his coffee addiction, although I understand you're even worse."

Gibbs grinned. "Maybe."

"I've mostly kicked the habit, myself, but I do indulge on occasion."

Gibbs nodded and went inside. He grabbed his own coffee and got another mug for Sam. Then, he brought it out and handed the mug to Sam. Gibbs sat on the steps and raised an eyebrow in silent question. While he had questions, this was Sam's thing, and unlike Gibbs himself, Sam was a talker. Gibbs supposed that was why he could be a college professor.

"All right. What I'm going to tell you is all I _can_ tell. In reality, I shouldn't tell you anything at all, but it's family. I can't bear the thought of losing family, particularly not my son. There's a Sanskrit proverb. 'Sorrow for the death of a father lasts six months; sorrow for a mother, a year; sorrow for a wife, until another wife; sorrow for a son, forever.' Now, I can't necessarily agree with the first two, and I've never experienced the third, but I can't imagine getting over losing my son. You may think it melodramatic, and maybe it is, a little bit, but I really think that Tim is risking his life, even more than his career, and if I could stop him, I would. I just can't do it because he knew I would try and he hid his plans from me...and this wheelchair holds me back to some degree, just from a physical perspective."

Sam ran his calloused palms over the wheels and looked at his chair. The expression on his face was an interesting one. It was an amalgam of regret, anger, frustration and fear. Tim hadn't told the team much about his father, but they had known about Sam's paralysis and how it had come about. What Gibbs was seeing now was that Sam still didn't like what he had to deal with. Perhaps, it was only in times like these when he couldn't physically do what he felt was necessary, but right now, Gibbs would guess that Sam felt the restriction of his paralysis as if it was a prison.

"Even at home, if it was just him and me, he could escape just by going up a flight of stairs. That's all it would take, and in this case, he's done even more so that everyone is kept away."

"So you're saying don't ask questions?"

Sam sighed. "You can ask, but accept that I may not answer...maybe not any of them."

"Go on."

Sam took a breath. "All right. I worked in special ops for a number of years. If you've ever glanced at my file, not that I think you've had any reason to, but if you did, you'd see that I moved up the ladder very quickly. In a couple of cases, before I should have. I was young to be a commander, but I _earned_ my position, thank goodness. There's nothing worse than trying to give orders to people who believe you don't deserve to be there. That's what led me to where I am now. All the missions are still classified, and I don't regret them, by and large. Most are only classified because of convention, not because of need, at this point. It's the last one that was the problem. It was different from the start, and I just had no idea how different it would be. The person who gave me my orders was not the man in charge of the mission. He was simply the go-between to protect the person who was calling the shots. And no, I have no idea who that was."

"Who was the one giving the orders?"

"He's been dead for years, so I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you. His name was Admiral Thomas Jackson. I'd had dealings with him for a number of years. He was the one who first recruited me to special ops. I'm not sure what put me on his radar, but I was, and it helped me quite a bit, career-wise. Tim will see that and start with him. That will likely lead him to my other missions, but I doubt he'll be distracted by them for long. Even as young as he was at the time, he understood that the last mission was the worst one. He was very perceptive for a young boy. He was only seven when it all went down. It's why he wanted to be in law enforcement. Did you know that?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow again. "No, I didn't."

Sam nodded. "I don't know when it happened, but at some point, he heard Naomi and me talking about it, and he decided he was going to fix things for me by finding out the truth. Obviously, he would have to be a cop of some kind. We didn't know about that until much later, but that childhood idea led him to this point. He told me once that he'd thought about looking into it on his own, but he'd decided not to because it would just be for him, not for me. Now..."

"Now, it's for you."

"It's for him, too, but yes. It's for me, and I cannot tell you how much I hate it. No parent wants his child sacrificing for him. It's supposed to be the other way around."

"Don't think your son would agree."

"Of course, he wouldn't," Sam said.

"Is there anyone else you think might matter?"

Sam very obviously had someone in mind, but he seemed reluctant to mention him. He was silent for another few seconds.

"Well?"

"The only other person who was involved and survived...I don't even know if he's still alive." Sam said. "I hope he's not. If I ever have to see him again..." The tone changed abruptly to something deep and bitter.

Gibbs was surprised. "Why?"

"He was...part of the operation, and if I got all the blame..."

"It was because of him?"

"Yes. Mostly. Naomi would lay it _all_ at his feet, but I recognize that he probably just allowed it to happen rather than _made_ it happen. It doesn't matter, though. Not to us. He could have literally ruined my life at the time, and so I haven't spoken to him in thirty years. I never want to, either. I don't care if he's sorry. I don't care if he wants forgiveness. I can't forgive him and I have no interest in hearing him say anything, good or bad. I don't know if Tim would find him or not. If he finds a record of his involvement, then, absolutely, but other than in a specific record of the operation itself, as far as Tim knows, he was just a Navy buddy." Sam winced. "I actually lied to him about it. I never told him why he was suddenly gone."

"Name?"

"Charlie Leadore. We were in NROTC together."

Again, Gibbs was surprised, but it explained Sam's deep feelings on the matter. A long-time acquaintance, maybe even close friend who had turned around and betrayed him. No wonder he just wanted to forget him and was reluctant even to talk about him. Gibbs didn't miss the fact Sam hadn't described the man's actual role in the whole thing, but he figured that it was one of those questions he couldn't answer.

"Agent Gibbs, not even my wife knows what this operation was, but she knows how serious and how deadly it was. She saw the all of the fallout of the operation, and we try not to talk about it. It put a strain on my marriage and my family. I almost died, and there were...some bad moments... and then, I almost lost my freedom. The only reason I wasn't the scapegoat then was because they thought they could hide it. I can only guess that hiding it isn't working anymore."

"Domestic or foreign?"

"Foreign."

"Assassination?"

Sam shook his head. "I can't tell you that, Agent Gibbs. I know some people would try to argue that, because my country is not acting with honor toward me, I'm under no obligation to give them that honor and that I should just give all the details and drag them through the mud, but I took an oath when I became an officer and, as far as I'm concerned, that oath has no expiration date. It doesn't depend on whether or not I'm still serving. It doesn't depend on who is leading the country or on what they're trying to do to me. I will defend myself to the best of my ability, but I cannot violate the oaths I took." He smiled a little. "I actually feel a little guilty just telling you what I have."

"What will happen in the court martial?"

"The people involved will already be read in. It won't be a public hearing, I'm sure. They'll close all of it if they can. If they can't, then, most of it will be closed. They'll try to keep it as much out of the public eye as they can. In reality, that could work in my favor. We live in a time when the public demands outcomes without knowing everything. They decide what is right and they start to attack when they don't get what they want. You've seen it, I'm sure. It's hard to miss people losing their jobs because of some online crusade. I don't have much respect for those people because they don't care that they don't have all the information. They don't care about the people involved. They just want something to be outraged about. I have no interest in getting public support or public censure." He paused and then laughed. "Sorry. A little rant, there."

"Be straight with me, Mr. McGee."

"Sam. I'm almost never _mister_. It feels strange, but I don't expect you to call me Professor or Dr. McGee in this situation."

"Commander?"

Sam shook his head. "I haven't been a commander in the Navy for three decades. Just plain, old Sam will do."

Plain didn't describe Sam McGee in any way, shape or form as far as Gibbs was concerned, but he could understand the difficulty in being pulled back to a life long left behind. Sam maintained his allegiance, but he wasn't of the "once a Marine, always a Marine" mentality, not that Gibbs blamed him considering what he indicated had happened to him.

"Then, be straight with me, Sam. What are you expecting from me?"

"What I'm hoping is that you can find Tim and stop him. I don't want him to pay the price for my military service. I want Tim to stop what he's trying to do and let things take their course. One of the reasons he's chosen to isolate himself is that no one can question what he's doing. He can stay secure in the idea that he's doing the right thing, that no matter what the cost, it will be worth it. People can bring up questions, uncomfortable questions. When Tim decides that something is right, he wants it to be right with no gray area. He hates the gray area, even though I know he's slipped into it a few times. I don't want to go to prison, Agent Gibbs, but I will not sacrifice my son's freedom for my own."

Which was, essentially, what Tim had said about his father only switched around. Gibbs could see where Tim got this determination to do the right thing. He'd been raised with it being part and parcel of who his parents were. He didn't have a chance of viewing the world differently. The world was supposed to be black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. If something went wrong, then, it was supposed to be made right. That was what Tim was doing, and Gibbs couldn't fault him on that. The more he talked to Sam, the more he saw why Tim was so determined to save him.

"I'll try to find him, but I think you're underestimating his stubbornness."

"I may be. I just want Tim to be safe. If you find him, tell him that I don't want him doing this for me. I don't care how much he wants to. I don't _want_ it."

Gibbs was pretty sure that wouldn't help at all. Still, he nodded. Sam finished his coffee and then Gibbs wheeled him back to the front of the house. He called for a taxi and then left Gibbs to his thoughts.

It was now time to get to work.

And continue to think about how to figure out where Tim had gone.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam headed out to the training field to see how his team was doing. Charlie was mostly in charge of this, but because Sam would be the one leading them when the operation began, it was important that he be there. Actually, today was the day that Sam was going to participate in the course he had set up for them. He would have to be in just as good condition as his men if this was going to be a success. Besides, it would give them more confidence in him if they could _see_ that he could do it, rather than just take his word that he could. There would be other team training courses, but this was to get them physically ready for whatever might face them. Each man had to know that he could deal with what might come.

He'd also been taking the time to go through the course himself. No sense in making himself look like a fool. He was ready to show his team that he was prepared to lead them, that he would do what was required to get them in and out safely.

"Commander McGee, good to see you this morning," Charlie said, formally. His voice was loud enough that it would warn the team he was here.

"Good morning, Commander Leadore. Is the team ready?"

"Yes, sir," Charlie said, barely suppressing a smile. He knew that Sam was going to be demonstrating his own prowess. This was not something Sam did on a whim. It was important to build both camaraderie and confidence. It also was not just a chance to show off. They all had done this course multiple times and they knew how it went. Sam was not at any advantage, and he had made sure that they would be doing their absolute best. No slacking because the team lead was participating.

Sam stood straight and looked at them all, even while he addressed Charlie. "Then, give them their instructions."

"Yes, sir." Charlie turned to the group. "Commander McGee will be joining you on the course today. He expects you to do your best to beat him through the course this morning. I will be judging you based on previous performance. If I see even one of you holding back, I can only assume that you lack the conditioning needed and the entire team will be required to do an additional ten-mile ruck march every day for the next week."

There was only a slight indication of dismay, and Sam suppressed a smile. He'd been watching his men and he knew that they would be hard-pressed to outdo him today. It might happen or it might not, but he was their equal in many ways. He couldn't show it yet, but he was impressed with their performance thus far.

There was no overt complaint, but the knowledge that they succeeded or failed together was important in these kinds of missions. They only had each other to lean on and they had to know that they were in it together, no matter what, that no one man would drop the ball on the others.

"Any questions?" Charlie asked.

"No, sir!" came the unified reply.

"Then, line up!"

The team took their positions and Sam took his beside them. He was eager to do this. He loved the feeling of pushing himself physically as far as he could go and knowing his body was up to the challenge.

Then, they were off. There were multiple parts to this course, but they started with a run across a muddy field. The mud was deep and thick. Very difficult to get through. Sam pushed himself and knew that, if he wasn't leading them all, he was definitely not lagging behind. At the end of the field, there was a wall. Sam was out of the mud and over the wall without even the slightest pause. Then, there was crawling beneath the wire which was arranged in a maze of sorts. They had to stay low and find the right path. It wasn't a complex path, but it required more than just physical speed. It required quick thought as well.

On it went through all the pieces of the course. Sam saw a couple of his men pull ahead of him, and he was glad of it, but he also pushed himself to do better. He took the time to look back and noticed that, even the slowest of them was not far behind. They were all very close in their level of fitness which was what he had expected.

Then, one final burst of speed and he _almost_ beat the two who were ahead. He just didn't quite have it.

He stopped and watched as his other men came across, every one of them pushing themselves to do the work better and faster than they had before.

Breathing heavily, covered in mud and dirt, sweating profusely, Sam looked at his team, sizing them up.

Charlie walked over and made eye contact, silently asking what Sam thought. Sam nodded very slightly and almost winked. Charlie nodded back.

"Politz! Standford!"

"Yes, Commander Leadore!"

"You were able to beat Commander McGee. How do you feel about that?"

The two men smiled slightly.

"Hooyah!"

Sam had got the time he needed to get his breath back and he stepped forward.

"Well done. Every one of you. I expect you to continue on this track. Next week, we will start a different course. Dismissed!"

The team saluted and then left the field. Charlie and Sam were all that were left.

"They're doing _really_ well, Charlie," Sam said. "I'm impressed."

"I knew Politz would get you, but I was surprised that Standford was able to manage it. Every one of them beat their previous best. From my perspective, not one was holding back."

"Good. Did I beat my previous time?"

Charlie grinned. "You, too, Commander."

"Good. How about you?"

"I'm the timer," Charlie said, smiling. "I don't get my hands dirty."

Sam smiled and then, quickly smeared some of the mud from his uniform on Charlie's face.

"There. Now you look like special ops."

"Oh, I'll get you back for that, Sam. Just you wait."

"I can't wait for it. Hey, we're doing a cookout on the weekend. You free?"

"For free food? Absolutely."

"We're not in college anymore, Charlie. Surely, you can afford a meal."

"Of course, I can, but why should I if a free one is offered?"

"Always finding the angle, aren't you."

"Hey, I'm not like you. I don't have a family watching my back. Outside of the Navy, I have to watch my own back. That takes extra effort."

"Well, you know you're always welcome with us."

Charlie smiled and seemed a little serious. "Yeah, I know. It's just not quite the same." Then, he threw off the somber mood and grinned. "You'd better be watching for retaliation."

"I will. See you later. I'm going to hit the showers. Plan on me being there every week. I'd like to get your suggestions for the team trials by Friday."

"Will do, Commander. Any more details yet?"

Sam shook his head and then lowered his voice. "Based on what they've said, it's either an assassination or...some kind of retaliation."

"For what, though?" Charlie asked.

"Take your pick. Some people think we should be dictating the politics of the entire Western Hemisphere. You know what's been going on in Nicaragua."

"Only the bits and pieces."

"Isn't that enough?"

"Are you saying that you don't agree with it?"

"I'm saying that our mission is going to be part of that same thing. Whether I agree with it or not, the best thing we can do for these men is make sure they're as ready as they can be...for anything."

"What about you?" Charlie asked.

"What _about_ me?"

"Are _you_ ready for what you might be asked to do?"

"I hope so," Sam said. "See you Saturday. 1800 hours."

"Aye-aye, sir," Charlie said.

Sam turned and jogged away from the unexpectedly serious conversation. Charlie knew some of his reservations, but he didn't know how much Sam himself was worried about what might come of all this.

As worried as he was, though, he just hoped that he was worrying for nothing and that he wouldn't be asked to do something illegal.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Naomi was a little irritated when she woke up and saw that Sam was gone, but she understood that he felt a need to do some of this himself. It was a way of asserting some control over a situation he couldn't really control.

Still, while he was gone, she figured that it would be a good idea to call Sarah. This was going to be a hard phone call, but it was a necessity. Sarah would be upset that they had kept this from her. Not as upset as Tim had been, but Sarah didn't feel the same sense of responsibility that Tim did. She was the younger sibling, the one needing protection, not the one _giving_ protection. It was funny, too, because Sarah tried so hard to be the tough, independent one. In many ways she was, but she also needed to be cared for, not physically, but emotionally. She leaned on Tim more than she probably should and he allowed it more than he probably should. That closeness had some barbs to it, though. Sarah could lash out when she was really afraid, using anger to hide her fear, and Tim was often on the receiving end of it. There was more than one time when he had been hurt by her callous words.

But this time, Naomi would be the one receiving it, and she knew she could take anything Sarah could dish out, because Sarah was much like she was. They both had the ability to wound with words. Sarah hadn't learned how to curb that ability while Naomi had the experience of both the satisfaction and the guilt of using words to hurt. Now, she tried to avoid it at all costs because she had seen the price.

She called and listened to the phone ring. There was no answer.

" _Hi! This is Sarah McGee. Leave a message if you want me to call you back. Otherwise, just hang up!"_

Naomi smiled a little, regretting that she was about to ruin her daughter's day.

"Sarah, this is your mother. I need you to call me back as soon as you have some time. Before you worry, no one is hurt, but this is something serious."

Then, she hung up. Sarah had probably been distracted by one thing or another and barely missed her phone. That happened more often than Naomi could count.

Five minutes later, the phone rang.

"Hello, Sarah."

" _What's going on, Mom? Is it Dad? Or is it Tim?"_

Naomi wished it was only one or the other, but she was going to focus on the main issue.

"It's your father, but it's not his health."

" _Then, what is it? If Dad is fine, what's going on?"_

"Your father is being called up for a general court martial."

There was a long pause. Naomi heard some rustling in the background.

" _Court martial? Why? Dad hasn't been in the Navy since before I born!"_

"That's right. It's because of his last mission that he led before he left the military."

" _But...but it's been so long! How could they be doing something like that now?"_

"We don't know, yet, but we know that it's coming. We've been working on figuring out what his defense is going to be."

" _You've been... How long has this been going on?"_

"A few weeks."

" _A few weeks?! And you're just telling me now? How could you keep me in the dark? How long has Tim known?"_

There was that edge of petulance.

"About two days longer because he came to Ohio to see us just this last weekend and we told him then."

A bit of a lie, but not enough that it would matter.

" _Why didn't you tell us?"_

"Because we weren't sure how it was going to play out, but it's looking like it's going to happen and we wanted you to be ready for it."

" _Should I come home?"_

"No, Sarah. You shouldn't. We'll keep you updated, and if the trial actually happens..."

" _It might not? This might all go away?"_

"It's possible, but I don't know how likely it is. If the trial happens, we'll let you know the dates so that you can come if you want to, but for now, stay where you are. Try to enjoy yourself and know that we're working on things here."

" _What about Tim? Is he just working?"_

"No. Tim is trying to help in his own way."

" _What does that mean? Where is he, Mom? Why isn't he with you?"_

"Sarah McGee, don't even start blaming your brother for what's happening. He was seven years old when this operation happened. It has nothing to do with him," Naomi said sternly.

" _I'm sorry, Mom."_

"It's all right. Now, what I think you should do is go and find some of your friends and let them give you a shoulder to lean on, but don't let this consume you. We're working on it. Agent Gibbs is going to give us a list of lawyers if we need them. We're going to get through this, Sarah. It's going to work out."

" _Are you sure I shouldn't come?"_

"Sarah, if you really want to, by all means, it's not my place to force you to stay in England, but if you just think that you _should_ want to be here, then, stay where you are because this is going to be another few weeks of investigations before the tribunal is even convened."

" _You won't keep me out of it?"_

"I promise. When we know a date for the tribunal, we'll tell you."

" _Okay...I'll stay here... Is that okay?"_

"Yes, Sarah. It's more than okay. Right now, we're not in Ohio anyway. We're in DC."

" _Why?"_

"There are some military lawyers we're going to talk to. It will give us some better perspective on what we need to do. You can call anytime you want to. We'll let you know where we're at."

" _Okay."_

Naomi heard Sarah take a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

"It'll be all right, Sarah. It's only just started. We'll get there."

" _Can I talk to Dad?"_

"He's not here right now, but I'll have him call you as soon as he gets back, okay?"

" _Okay."_

"I love you, Sarah. Stay safe over there."

" _I'm always safe. I love you."_

They said their good-byes and hung up.

That had gone as well as it could have, Naomi decided. Now, she could wait for Sam to get back and be irritated that he'd gone off first thing without telling her. It was going to be a long wait.

But while she waited, she thought about what would be most practical. They were in a hotel right now, but if they were going to stay here in anything like long-term, it didn't make sense to spend all that money. They couldn't use Tim's place. It didn't have an elevator, and they didn't have a key to his apartment, although she would guess that someone else might. Regardless, it wasn't an option. She decided to look for someplace they could rent for the time being.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sam got out of the taxi.

"Thanks for the ride," he said. "It was very easy."

The taxi driver grinned.

"Easy for you."

Sam laughed. "Exactly. Why do you think I took a taxi?"

"Have a nice day."

"You, too."

He paid for the ride and got back onto the sidewalk. The hotel wasn't very far away and he was more than equal to the challenge. He started going.

"Hello, Mr. McGee."

Sam stopped and looked back over his shoulder. There was a man standing there that he didn't recognize. Of course, he was also calling Sam _mister_ which indicated that this was someone who didn't know him. He spun his chair around to face the man directly.

"Can I help you?" Sam asked, keeping his tone even.

The man approached him without answering. There were people walking by on the street, but that didn't really make Sam feel any better. He had the feeling that this was not a friendly person, nor was he making a friendly visit.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Why are you in DC, Commander?"

"Oh. I see," Sam said, smiling grimly. He gave his best disappointed professor sigh. "This is intimidation. I realize that I'm just a man in a wheelchair, but that doesn't change who I was or what I've done in my life. I don't know who you are, but you should feel humiliated at being sent to threaten a guy in a wheelchair. Whoever you're working for should know that I'm going to fight this all the way. I don't walk away from a challenge. I don't even wheel away from a challenge. You want to deliver your threat? Feel free, but you can tell your boss, whoever he is, that I'm not easily intimidated, and all this has done is prove to me that I have a shot at beating this ridiculous trial because if it was a slam dunk, this wouldn't be necessary. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do."

He maintained eye contact with the man and thought he might have seen a glimmer of respect in the man's eyes. Then, he turned his chair around and wheeled away. He didn't look back, although his attention was almost all on whether or not the man was following him.

He managed to get back into the hotel safely and only then did he let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't expected them to send people after him.

Quickly, he went back up to the room.

"Sam! Where did you go?" Naomi said, as soon as he was in the room.

"I'll tell you later, but right now, we have a problem."

"What is it?" Naomi asked.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam sat alone on the back porch, staring out at the grass. The closer this thing got, the worse he felt about it, but he didn't feel that he could tell anyone about how much anxiety this operation was giving him. It wasn't that he couldn't ever relax. He was looking forward to the cookout, having friends over, everyone having fun. It was just that his mind always went back to this. It was a big part of his life, threatening to consume every waking moment. So far, he and Naomi had managed to avoid having it affect them very much, but she would start thinking about it soon, too. That was when the fights could start again, or worse, the fears could come out.

Naomi had given up trying to get him to come to bed. He would have to go inside sooner or later, but he wasn't relaxed enough yet to have a chance of sleeping, and he wanted to think about it more...because, of course, he hadn't thought about it enough already.

The door opened behind him.

"Daddy?"

The voice was tentative, and Sam really didn't want to be interrupted during his brooding, but he had already promised himself that he wouldn't let Tim see his frustrations again. He wasn't going to bring that home with him if he could avoid it.

He took a breath and looked back at his son.

"Aren't you supposed to be in bed, Tim?"

Tim nodded.

"Then, what are you doing out here? Does your mother know that you're out here?"

Tim shook his head.

"What is it?"

"I had a bad dream."

Sam furrowed his brow. Tim normally went to Naomi when he had bad dreams. Sam was not his go-to for that kind of comfort.

"What was in your dream, Tim?"

Suddenly, instead of his son standing and looking at him with deceptive calm, his lower lip began to quiver. Sam was surprised. Tim didn't cry much, especially not in front of his father.

"Tim, what's wrong?" he asked, turning to face his son fully.

Tim ran over to him and hugged him tightly. Sam could feel him shaking.

"What is it, Tim?"

"I d-d-dreamed that you d-d-died. Y-You were in a coffin. They put in you in the ground. You were gone!" Tim started to cry loudly as he clung to his father.

Sam hugged Tim tightly, suddenly feeling a tightness in his throat that he hadn't felt in years.

"I don't want you to be gone, Daddy!"

Sam wasn't sure what to say, because there was always a chance that everything would go wrong and he would die on a mission. He didn't want to lie to his son, but no matter how smart Tim might be, Sam also didn't think that he could understand that the possibility was there but he didn't need to be afraid of it.

"It's all right, Tim. It was just a dream," he said, softly.

"I don't want you to be in the ground."

Sam thought about what his father would have said in this situation. It would likely have been something about real men not crying. He instantly rejected that as unhelpful. His own experience wouldn't help him here. He would just have to go with what he could come up with himself.

"I won't be. You were just having a dream, Tim. It wasn't real."

"But it could be! Mom said so! I heard her talking."

"To who?"

"Jason's mom. She said she was afraid of you going because you could die. I don't want you to die! I want you to be home."

Right then, Sam made a decision he'd been struggling with. He pulled Tim back so that he could look him in the eye.

"Tim, I'm going to tell you something very important. Are you listening?"

Tim nodded and wiped at his eyes, but Sam could see that he was still upset.

"I am going to be leaving for my job one more time, but that's going to be the end of it. This is my last one."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Tim hugged him again.

"Do you think you could go back to sleep?"

"Will you come to my room?"

Knowing as he did that Tim didn't usually get this scared, Sam decided that he'd do it. He nodded and was rewarded with Tim's relieved smile as he pulled Sam to his feet and then went willingly to his bedroom. Sam settled down on Tim's bed, right beside him. Tim snuggled up to him and closed his eyes. He was asleep in moments.

Sam looked at Tim. He saw too little of him, but that could change.

"I could be a better father, Tim," he whispered. "I can do better."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

The sound of a car brought Tim out of his zone. He jumped and, instantly, there was a surge of adrenaline. The blanket he'd put over his head however many hours ago slipped down to his shoulders. He blinked blearily in the natural light and reconnected to the outside world. Then, it dawned on him that he should be a little more vigilant. He set his computer to the side and hurried to the window. The car drove by without even slowing down. Tim watched and sighed with relief.

As he sat back on the floor, he realized that he would have to find some way to stay aware of his surroundings while doing his usual work that tended to cut him off from the rest of the world. If they did track him down, he would need to know that in advance rather than as they were coming into this shack.

For now, he could just creep back to his space and fold up his bedding until the night came again.

He sat down and grabbed a bottle of water. He chugged it down and wiped the sweat off his head. He hadn't realized he was so sweaty under that blanket.

He felt a little fuzzy, so he got up and started walking around the shack, trying to get his brain back in gear, calm himself down and think a little more clearly. He took a few deep breaths.

"Okay, Tim. Back to work. Emergency over. No crisis. You're just fine. Everything is just fine."

He walked back to his computer and sat down on the floor once again.

While Admiral Jackson seemed to have a lot to do with Sam's military career, Tim didn't think he was the one who had been calling the shots. He may have approved of the shots. He certainly delivered the shots, but he wasn't the one calling them. But why him? Why Admiral Jackson? Why not someone else? He was a high-ranking military man to be at someone else's beck and call. It didn't seem right for him to be the messenger, but the more Tim read about him, the more he felt that Admiral Jackson had _been_ the messenger.

"So if an admiral in the Navy is the messenger, who is he delivering messages for?" Tim asked himself. "It has to be someone higher, but not necessarily in the Navy. This has got to be outside of the Navy. The orders have to be coming from someone else."

Still, the question was _why_. What had his father been doing that was important enough for this kind of organization?

That was the most important question. It wasn't Admiral Jackson himself. It was the message he'd been carrying. All of Sam's previous missions didn't matter so much as figuring out what this one had involved. The question, then, was how to figure out what this mission had been. Tim knew that it was classified Top Secret. He also guessed that, if anything still remained of the records, they'd be hard to get to. It meant that he'd have to hack things that would likely leave a trail. And if he was obnoxious enough about it, that trail would lead straight to this little hovel in the woods. Tim wasn't deluding himself that his life would be worth much if he annoyed the wrong people.

Briefly, he seriously considered the idea of letting himself be found. If they were as ruthless as he thought they could be, they might be willing to kill him to stop him. If he set it up right, he would be able to show, very publicly, just what kinds of people they were which would help his father. He'd be dead, but his father would be safe.

After a few seconds, though, he rejected the idea, for two reasons. First, he knew that Sam would never forgive himself if his son ended up dead. Second, he also didn't want to die. While he'd be willing to give his life if it was necessary, he was far from being in that desperate a situation. That was the course of action he could possibly take if he was in a last stand sort of position. He wasn't. He was barely starting. Death was never the first resort. It was the last.

That decision made, Tim returned to his previous train of thought. He would have to figure out just where this information might be stored. The problem was that he didn't know much about the people who had been working with Sam on these missions.

Then, he stopped that thought. He did know of one person. Well, at least, he was almost positive about one person.

Charlie Leadore. It couldn't be a coincidence that he had shown up just before the mission and disappeared just after. He must have been part of it. As Gibbs was fond of saying, there was no such thing as a coincidence.

Tim turned his attention from his father to his father's friend.

The first thing would be to look at his file and see where he had come from and where he had gone. Could Tim be lucky enough to be able to check it out through his NCIS access? He could hope so.

He leaned over and started to look.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Faith sat back and considered for a little while longer. She didn't want to get involved in this, but she also didn't want to pretend she didn't think that there was a significant danger of injustice occurring, and she didn't like it when the law was used for injustice, rather than justice. However, regardless of her preferences, she wasn't sure that she had the clout to get anything done that might need to be done. That meant finding someone she could talk to about what was going on.

Again, she thought about it. There weren't many in JAG itself that she would trust with this situation. After the events just in the last day, she needed some feedback, but she was afraid to get it from her coworkers.

But there _was_ someone who _used_ to be in JAG that she might be able to trust. The question was whether or not he'd be willing to give her the time of day. She knew he'd recently retired after ten years with a civilian law firm. That meant he had time on his hands, but he might not want to fill that time with a case like this.

Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Keeping with the warning she'd given Gibbs, Faith left her office and headed out without calling first.

She drove out of DC and parked in front of an unassuming home in Maryland. A deep breath and she headed for the front door. She knocked and unconsciously straightened to attention as the door opened.

"Commander Coleman."

"Captain Coleman, now, sir."

"My apologies."

"None needed," Faith said, formally. "I did not expect you to know it, Admiral."

"I haven't been an admiral for years, Captain."

Faith smiled slightly. Former Navy Admiral A. J. Chegwidden looked both surprised to see her and resigned at how she was treating him.

"Please, don't make me say _at ease_ , Captain."

Faith smiled openly and relaxed, trying not to reveal the fact that she felt as though Chegwidden was still her superior officer.

"That's better. What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to talk to you."

"Officially?"

"No, but yes."

"Oh. One of _those_." He sighed and stood aside. "Come on in."

Faith was interested in seeing the inside of Chegwidden's home. She had never been here. Certainly, she'd never been as close to him as other JAG lawyers had been. She knew that Bud and Harriet looked on him as a surrogate father. However, she had come in later and in a position that had left her somewhat at odds with the people closest to him, even if she _had_ been defending Harm, not prosecuting. All in all, it was strange coming to Chegwidden's house. It seemed like an invasion, but she also knew that there were few people who would expect her to come here. That's why it worked.

"Have a seat, Captain. Can I get you anything?"

"Still on the clock, sir."

Chegwidden chuckled. "You wanting to drink already?"

"Yes."

"This must be bad. So why me? I retired and I haven't been involved in military courts for a while, with a few notable exceptions."

"Because there aren't too many people that I'd trust to ask my questions who also know the law. You're one of them."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or resigned."

"Both?"

"What's going on?"

"Have you heard of a Navy special ops man named Samuel McGee? His rank thirty years ago was Commander. He's been retired."

"No. Should I have?"

"No, but there have been stranger coincidences."

"True enough. I don't know him. Who is he and why does he matter?"

"He is going to be facing a general court martial. Charges have yet to be officially filed, but the end result is looking to be extradition to an as-yet-undisclosed Central American country due to an operation he led back in the eighties."

Chegwidden was quiet for a few seconds. Then, he got up and walked out of the room. Faith watched him go, feeling a little puzzled, but she waited. A couple of minutes later, he came back in with coffee mugs. He handed one to her and she smelled the strong black coffee that a lot of the military men seemed to like. She preferred hers with a little bit of flavoring. Coffee should be enjoyed, savored, not mainlined like a drug. However, she said nothing about that. Coffee was beside the point.

"I get the feeling I'm going to want this. Is he guilty?"

"I'm not sure it matters, although I know at least one person believes he's not."

"Who is that one person?"

"The reason I'm involved at all. NCIS Agent Gibbs. I think you've met him before?"

"Yes, on occasion. Why is _he_ involved? If this is off the record so far, as it must be, because I'd have heard about it otherwise, how does Gibbs even know?"

"Because the man who will be tried is the father of one of his agents, an Agent Timothy McGee."

"Oh. I see. I know of him a little bit, but not much. He's asked Gibbs to get involved?"

"I don't think so. The way it's looking to me is that Gibbs found out and now he's trying to make it right."

"Sounds like Gibbs. Okay, so what are you wanting to ask _me_ about? I'm not involved in this at all. I know nothing about either the case or the people."

"Good. I've been putting out some discreet feelers around JAG and what I've heard is only from whispers and, sir, I think this is going to be a travesty of justice. I think that Samuel McGee is being put on trial because someone found out about what happened and is going to make it public. The government wants to have an instant scapegoat who can be punished and then swept under the rug. I also think that this is going to be risky to be involved in. Whoever takes this on will definitely be putting her career on the line."

"Her? You mean, you?"

"That's what Gibbs asked me for. I could suggest you, instead. I believe you were set to defend him not too long ago..."

"No, thank you. What's your question?"

"Should I take this on? At this point, I know nothing for certain, except that I may end up regretting it. I don't even want to indicate that I know a lot about the people or the case itself. When I asked about the case, I was told to keep out of it."

"By whom?"

"I don't know. I had never seen the man before. He claimed to be sent by SecNav and had the appropriate credentials, but when I looked him up later, there was no one answering his given name or description. This is big, sir. I want to see justice done, but I honestly don't know if this is something I should do."

"What was the name he gave you?"

"Petty Officer Sorin Schmidt. No one by that name, with any spelling, is a petty officer in the Navy. I checked."

"Have you talked to Cresswell?"

"No. After that visit, I decided that I didn't want to talk to anyone in JAG. Just in case."

"You're that worried?"

"Yes," Faith said, tersely.

"Why?"

"Because I submitted the request for information within JAG, not to the entire DoD. That means someone there passed that information along. I don't know who it was. The operation is Top Secret. That means no one will be talking about it."

"And so you're asking me for advice."

"Yes, sir."

Chegwidden took a long drink and sat back on his couch.

"Captain, there's one thing you should do whether you take the case or not."

"What's that, sir?"

"Make sure you're not alone. Clearly, they're already associating you with the defense. If this _is_ as big as you say, it will be to your benefit to take simple precautions. If you decide not to take the case, then, you only need to do so for as long as it takes them to realize it. If you do, though, you'll want to continue those precautions until the case is over...and maybe a little longer."

"Should I?"

"If you're worried about your career, definitely not," Chegwidden said, bluntly. "This is a situation that is heavily-weighted toward ending up badly for Commander McGee, whether he's guilty or innocent."

"My career is important, but not that important," Faith said.

"Then, I guess what you need to decide is if you can take the heat. If you can't, then, don't put yourself in it in the first place. That won't help them or you. Do what you can to help them find a different lawyer and wash your hands of it. If you can..."

"Yes, sir?"

Chegwidden smiled a little. "You shouldn't need me to finish that, Captain. If you're anything like you were when I knew you in JAG, you already know how it should end."

Faith took a breath and let out the root of her problem. There were very few people she would be this honest with and even fewer that she'd _want_ to be this honest with. She had moved up by being precise, dedicated, and objective. Emotions were a part of what she did, but she had always tried to make sure that they didn't affect her decisions. Chegwidden may not realize it, but she was giving him a level of trust that she wouldn't with many of the people she had worked with or under.

"I'm afraid, sir," she said, finally. "That's my problem. I've prosecuted cases. I've defended cases. I've dealt with vindictive people and I've been fine. I've never been worried about my life. But I'm afraid that this is more than dangerous to my career. A career can be changed, can be improved. ...but a life can't be, once it's lost."

Chegwidden raised an eyebrow at her.

"Do you seriously feel that your life would be in danger?"

"I'm looking at the facts, sir. That's what I do. When a new case comes, I make sure every detail is organized. Nothing left out. What I know and what has happened in the last 24 hours frightens me. It took very little time for someone to come and threaten me once I revealed my knowledge that the case even existed. Samuel McGee is paralyzed from the waist down. He has been for about twenty years. He's been out of the Navy for thirty years. Up until now, he's been an English professor in Ohio. This is not a hardened criminal or someone guilty of war crimes. For them to be willing to send him to prison or worse indicates something very serious. Gibbs is certain that he's not guilty. If that's true, then, they don't care about right and wrong, and who knows how far that disregard will extend. At this point, I'm willing to bet that it will extend a lot farther than it has so far."

Chegwidden's expression was unreadable as he looked at her. Faith knew herself to be strong and capable. That was how she deliberately presented herself and what she strove to be at all times. Letting out vulnerabilities was dangerous, and she didn't like doing it, but she needed Chegwidden to understand where she was coming from.

Finally, Chegwidden leaned forward and looked at her, earnestly.

"Captain Coleman, I know that you know the law backwards and forwards. I also know that you can take care of yourself. You have probably read this situation correctly. I can't tell you what to choose. That has to be your decision. I want you to think about something, though. You have admitted that this man is probably innocent, and yet, he is still going to be on trial, perhaps for his life. He is, more than likely, afraid of losing his life. You have felt something of what he is probably feeling. Can you stand by and let him face that? The question isn't whether or not you _should_ do it, but whether or not you can realistically walk away and still respect yourself. The law only works insofar as people practice it right. When it gets corrupted, it ceases to be justice and becomes corruption. Those of us who believe in justice have to fight against that corruption or else watch as the justice system, civilian or military, crumble."

Faith felt herself straighten in her chair as he spoke. This felt like a reprimand. She wasn't quite sure whether or not she deserved it, but it was being dealt out by a superior and she always accepted those with dignity and respect. She didn't answer his question directly, but she nodded.

"Thank you, sir."

She set her coffee mug down with the same practiced precision that governed almost all of her life. Then, she stood and turned to leave.

"Captain."

She turned back and faced him fully.

There was the barest hint of a smile.

"At ease, Captain."

Faith also smiled slightly, but she did not relax her stance this time. She simply looked at him with a silent question.

"Let me know."

"Yes, sir."

Then, she turned and left the house. She had needed to be able to talk about this, but she felt somewhat...disappointed. No, that was the wrong word. It wasn't disappointment. It was unease. Faith knew that she was usually quite decisive, and to feel such uncertainty was almost worse than the threat had been.

The main thing was that, before she talked to Gibbs again, she needed to square it away in her own mind. The last thing that Sam McGee would need was a lawyer who wasn't fully committed.

There was time to think. Not too much time, but there was time.

Faith headed back to her office, determined to come to a decision by the end of the day.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Chegwidden went back to his kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. He didn't blame Faith for being uncertain about taking on something that could actually end up being dangerous. However, he also believed that he was right about the necessity of trying to fight against the injustice. He wouldn't lose any respect for Faith if she passed on it, but he hoped that she wouldn't.

He felt like the Godfather.

"'Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.'"

Then, he smiled. What was the fun of being retired if you couldn't come out of it every so often?

He set his mug down and picked up his phone.

"Harm, how would you feel about taking a trip to DC?"


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Tim ran by, laughing and shouting with the other kids in the area. Sam smiled as he watched his son. It looked like he had completely forgotten his nightmare. He envied Tim the ability to move on from fears like that. He certainly hadn't forgotten it, and he hadn't forgotten the promise he'd made to Tim.

"Sam, is the grill hot, yet? Or are you planning on staring at it for another hour?" Naomi asked.

Sam looked up and smiled.

"It's hot. Are you too hungry to wait? Should I let you start gnawing on the raw meat?"

Naomi laughed. "I just might do that if you don't get started."

"Blame Charlie. He claimed that he'd be bringing the hot dogs and he's not here yet. Do you want to call him?"

Then, he looked back over his shoulder and gestured.

"The life of the party is here," he said in a low voice.

Charlie came into the yard, hot dogs in one hand and buns in the other.

"The life of the party is here!" he declared loudly.

Naomi suppressed a smile at Sam's ability to predict Charlie's words.

"Commander Leadore, if you don't get those dogs over here, you'll be the only one alive back here because everyone else will have died of starvation," Naomi said.

Charlie laughed and jogged over to the grill. He gave Naomi a kiss on the cheek.

"I saw that," Sam said.

"You were supposed to," Charlie said.

Naomi gave him a mock slap.

"Don't distract my husband. He needs to start grilling."

Sam took the hot dogs and started them and the hamburgers going. Naomi went over to talk to one of the other neighbors.

"Sam, you are _so_ lucky. You have no idea."

Sam followed Charlie's gaze.

"Oh, I think I do. Just don't get any ideas."

"You know I'd never do that."

"I know," Sam said. He nudged Charlie. "Hey, I thought you liked your partying lifestyle."

"I do, but...you know... I had the same kinds of dreams when I was younger. Family, kids, stuff like that. Never seemed to work out for me."

"Still can, you know. There's no upper limit to getting married. You just have to be willing to put yourself out there, Charlie. That's your problem. You don't want the risk."

"Maybe you're right. It's a lot easier to play the field."

"Easier, but not better," Sam said, looking over at Naomi.

"Charlie! Show me how far you can throw again!" Tim said, running over to him.

Charlie looked at Tim and then looked at Sam.

"You may be right, Sam." He looked at Tim. "I've already shown you how far I can throw, Tim! Why don't _you_ show _me_ how far you can throw?"

"Oh, I can't throw very far," Tim said. "I'm not good at stuff like that."

"You could be if you practiced. Come on, I'll show you how to start."

Tim dragged Charlie away and Sam refocused on the meat. That might have been the first time he'd ever seen Charlie regret his life-of-the-party lifestyle. He had always seemed to fully embrace the idea of having fun with no ties to hold him down. In fact, he had often teased Sam about settling down. Sam wasn't sure that Charlie could be serious enough to settle down. He didn't seem to like the idea of risking rejection or failure...or having to work at making a life.

Still, he had been an excellent second-in-command. He augmented Sam's abilities. They meshed well and Sam trusted him completely. So far, Charlie had always lived up to that trust. If he was going through with this operation, he was glad that Charlie had his back.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Gibbs had barely reached his desk when his phone rang. He didn't recognize the number, but he answered.

"Agent Gibbs."

" _Agent Gibbs, I'm sorry to bother you again, but I may be in some trouble and I'd like your advice on what I should do about it."_

"Sam McGee?"

" _Yes. I know it's a lot to ask, but would you mind coming to our hotel? Naomi is justifiably nervous about leaving at the moment."_

"You're afraid of leaving your hotel?"

" _Currently, I have to admit that I'm feeling a little apprehensive."_

"I'll be there in a few minutes. What's the address?"

The elevator dinged and Tony got off, heading to his desk with barely a glance at Gibbs. He was looking at Tim's empty desk instead. Gibbs snapped at him.

"What is it, Boss?" Tony asked.

" _We're at the Washington Hilton. Room 503."_

"We'll be there."

Gibbs hung up.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

"We're going to see the McGees."

"Do they know something about where Tim is?"

"Don't know, but something's spooked them."

Tony's brow furrowed, but he grabbed his bag and followed Gibbs without further questions. It was during the work day, but Gibbs was willing to bypass the usual when it seemed like a necessity.

Once they were in the car, on their way to the McGees' hotel, Tony broke his silence.

"What is it, Boss?"

"Don't know yet, but Sam McGee said they're in trouble and they're afraid of leaving their hotel."

"Whoa. When did that happen?"

"This morning after he showed up at my house."

Tony nodded.

They drove to the hotel and went straight to the room Gibbs had been told. Gibbs knocked and they waited.

After a few seconds, the door opened. Naomi stepped back to let them in without speaking. Sam was just inside himself, but neither of them spoke until the door was closed.

"What's going on?" Tony asked.

"Agent DiNozzo," Gibbs said, by way of introduction.

"Oh, of course. Tim has told us all about you," Sam said, smiling a little.

"Is that bad?" Tony asked.

"Do you expect it to be?" Sam returned.

Tony smiled back.

"I'm too smart to answer _that_ question."

"What's going on?" Gibbs asked.

"Someone approached me on the sidewalk outside the hotel when I got back," Sam said, becoming serious again. "He delivered a not-so-veiled threat."

"A threat? You're already going on trial. What would they have to threaten you for?" Tony asked.

Sam laughed a little. "I would have thought the same as you, Agent DiNozzo. I certainly wouldn't think that I'm one who needs threats."

"What exactly happened?" Gibbs asked.

"Probably, anyone watching us would have had no idea. He didn't say anything that could be simply construed as a threat, but it was, and he knew that I was seeing it that way. He asked me why I was in DC, and he used my military title. I haven't been called Commander in thirty years. He obviously wanted me to know the context."

"Then, what?"

"Then, he said nothing. He just stared at me. ...and I decided to lecture him, but what I said to him was true. How else could I take this but as evidence that they think I have a chance of beating the charges? Why would they bother if they thought the result was foregone?"

"Makes sense to me," Tony said, "but that's also kind of a problem. The trial hasn't even started yet. From what Gibbs told me, you haven't even started a defense yet, right?"

"Right. There's been no court date, nothing."

"Can you describe him?"

"Absolutely. I was directly facing him. No question what he looked like."

"Do want us to find him?"

"Yes," Sam said, firmly. "I was frightened by what happened, but I'm not backing down. Not one bit. I don't care who they are, they have no right to threaten me."

"I don't want to bring this up," Tony said, "but do you think it's because Tim _has_ been looking? Do you think that he's found something already?"

That would be fast, even for Tim, if this operation was as secret as Gibbs had been told.

"Already?" Naomi repeated. "I don't know. I know Tim is really good at that stuff, but that might be giving him a little too much credit."

"It just seems weird to me that they'd be coming after you so soon. What can you possibly do at this point?"

"Ask for a deal," Naomi said. "From what I've been told, a lot of these court martials don't actually go to trial. They plead out. It saves time, money and publicity. If we were scared enough, they might think that we'll ask for some kind of plea deal and then, they can get what they want without worrying about anything going wrong."

"Maybe they think that my legs not working means that I'm a coward," Sam said, "but they couldn't be more wrong. Winston Churchill said, 'This is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never — in nothing, great or small, large or petty — never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.' That is my guide in this situation. I can't walk, but that doesn't mean I have to give up. When someone tries to force me, that only makes me more stubborn."

"In that case, would you mind coming to NCIS to give a description so we can make a composite?"

"Not at all. I want to know who this is, and where he's coming from, although...you may not get an answer to that question," Sam said.

"I'm coming, too," Naomi said. "I'm definitely not sitting around, twiddling my thumbs."

Sam smiled. "I wouldn't have dreamed of asking you to stay."

"Good. And we'll both feel better with some people around to protect us," Naomi said.

"If I had known that there'd be this kind of thing happening, I'd have brought my gun," Sam said.

"You have a gun?" Gibbs asked.

"Locked in a safe at home, yes," Sam said. "I only shoot it at a shooting range in order to be retrained on it, periodically. If I'm going to own one, I'm going to make sure I'm completely competent in firing it. It's been quite a while since shooting was a regular part of my day."

"If you're ready, we can go, now."

"Absolutely."

Sam and Naomi grabbed a few things and then followed Tony and Gibbs out the door. Tony was on alert, but Gibbs didn't see anyone lingering. It was logical to expect these people to come back again, but right now, it seemed that they weren't on the prowl, just yet.

They drove back to NCIS and went up to the bullpen. Gibbs had Sam and Naomi wait for a few minutes while he checked his email and made sure there were no immediate calls on his time. As he sat at his desk, Sam and Naomi looked around the space where their son worked.

"Is this Tim's desk?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Tony said. "That's it."

Sam rolled over to the desk and looked at it. Naomi walked with him. She looked over at Tony.

"May I?"

"Go for it," Tony said.

Naomi pulled out Tim's chair and sat down.

"So this is Tim's view of the world," she said softly. She was really only talking to Sam, but it was impossible not to hear her.

"The walls really are orange, aren't they," Sam said. "Tim told us about that, but I wasn't sure I believed him. It seemed strange when so much of government architecture just means taupe."

Naomi laughed. "I like it."

"Me, too."

"Boss, I've got a request from Legal. The Druer case."

Gibbs grimaced. That was a case that Tim had done most of the research on. Of course, that would be the one to come up now. It wasn't officially closed yet, but he had assumed that they were easily on their way to it.

"You think you can find what they need?"

"Maybe. I can try."

"Do it. I'll take the McGees down to Abby."

"Oh, I'm excited to meet her," Naomi said. "Tim told us so much about all of you that it's an experience to see you in person."

"Seeing Abby is _always_ an experience," Tony said, from his desk.

Gibbs could see that he was waiting until the McGees were out of sight to move over to Tim's desk and try to find the necessary files. It appeared that whatever Tim had included hadn't been enough or it had raised more questions. As he stood to walk to the elevator, he glanced up and saw Vance staring down. Well, he could stare all he wanted. This was a legitimate grievance. If it wasn't exactly NCIS jurisdiction, it was close enough.

"All right, this way."

They got on the elevator and descended to Abby's lab.

"This building is larger than I thought it was," Sam said. "It's almost like it's bigger inside than it is outside."

"I usually feel like it's smaller," Gibbs said, with a slight smile. "Too much to do, not enough space, not enough time."

"Well, the elevator is certainly plenty small, and I understand that you spend a good deal of time in here," Sam said.

"Have to have someplace that's secure."

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Gibbs stepped out and gestured for Sam and Naomi to precede him. There weren't too many other places they could go other than Abby's lab. He noticed that she had her music at top volume. He'd long ago decided that she didn't do that because she really wanted it that loud, but because she wanted to keep intruders away.

"Abby! Turn it down!" Gibbs shouted.

Abby turned around and grinned.

"Okay, Gibbs! You don't have to shout!" she shouted back at him.

She went into her office and turned down the music.

"Gosh, Gibbs, you'd think that you'd never heard my..." Then, it suddenly dawned on her that there were other people in the room. She looked at Sam and Naomi. "Oh! You must be... You are! You're Tim's parents! Wonderful!"

She ran over and hugged them both tightly.

"I've always wanted to meet you! Tim told me about you and you sounded so amazing!"

"Amazing?" Sam asked.

"Yes! Well, that's my word, not Tim's, but that's okay. He would use it if he was an amazing sort of guy. Not that _he's_ not amazing, but... Well, I'm so excited to meet you. I'm Abby."

"We gathered that," Sam said. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"We need a composite," Gibbs said, trying to get Abby back onto work.

"Of who?" Abby asked.

"A man who threatened me outside my hotel this morning," Sam said.

"What? That's low-down and dirty," Abby said. "You got a good look at him?"

"Oh, yeah, but the fact that he didn't bother trying to disguise himself makes me wonder if he'll be in any database," Sam said.

"But we can try, and we can put out a BOLO, too. Even if it doesn't work, they'll see that you're not going to be held back by them. ...unless you don't _want_ to have that?"

Sam smiled. "I'm more than happy to send my own message."

"Good. Then, I'll get the program started and you can tell me all about him."

"That works for me."

Gibbs watched as Abby started her program running. He could tell that she was trying very hard not to show any worry or anything that might tip anyone off to the fact that Tim was gone. She didn't know details, but she knew enough that, if she bothered to think, she'd know that this could be risky. Obviously, she had.

"Okay, Mr. McGee."

"You can call me Sam," Sam said. "I don't need any titles."

"Sounds good. Have you ever done a sketch before?"

"No."

"Okay, Sam. Now, what I'll do is feed what you tell me into the program and then, you can see if it looks right. We can tinker with it as much as we need to. So don't just accept the picture I show you. There's a bit of guesswork that has to be part of this because I'm interpreting your description based on what I think of, and we won't be thinking the same way."

"I'm sure of that."

Abby grinned.

"Okay. If you aren't sure about it, don't worry. You're not the only one. Not all sketches are completely accurate, but if you can look at it and say that it resembles the guy you saw, that will be helpful."

"I'm ready."

"Good. So tell me what you can about him. Give as much detail as you can. Right now, we're focusing on his face. We can get to other parts later."

"All right. His hair was short, almost a military cut, I'd say. Kind of a...dirty blonde. Very unassuming. His face was square, very solid jaw, and his nose was aquiline. I think it's also called a Roman nose."

"Could you describe it more?"

"Sure. Um...the word _aquiline_ comes from the Latin word for eagle and it refers to the shape of an eagle's beak: curved, a prominent bridge."

"Okay. Go on."

His mouth was...average. I can't think of anything that stood out about his mouth. His eyes were a dark color, but I couldn't tell you exactly what it was. Just not a light blue or green. They were dark. He had heavy eyebrows that were darker than his hair."

Abby put in all the details Sam gave and got a rough composite. Then, she started refining the image. Gibbs knew that this would take time, so he excused himself and went back up to the bullpen.

Vance was at his desk.

"Agent Gibbs. Would you mind telling me what case you're working on, right now? I wasn't aware that you had any new ones at the moment."

Gibbs glanced over at Tony, but he just shrugged. No inquiry from Vance, then.

"Tim's parents are here."

"I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that I gave you an order regarding the McGees. I realize that you don't think much of orders, but I did expect you to at least _attempt_ to follow it."

"They came to me."

"And why did they do that?"

"Because someone threatened Professor McGee this morning."

Vance raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want to ask him yourself? He's down with Abby making a composite, right now."

"In my office, please, Agent Gibbs."

"Yes, Director."

Vance's gaze switched over to Tony.

"You may as well come, too, Agent DiNozzo."

"Yes, Director."

Tony got up and followed along. Gibbs knew they were both wondering what this was going to lead to.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 _Thirty years ago..._

It had been a long, hard day at work. Sam knew that he was on the verge of spending more time working than at home with his family. In fact, there had been a few nights already when he'd been on base all night long doing drills with his team. He kept telling himself that this was the last one, the last mission, no matter what it cost him.

Just one more mission.

He arched his back and stood. One more round and he'd let them all have the weekend off. They'd all been working hard and it was no mistake that the training was getting harder and harder. They needed to be prepared for anything and everything that might come up.

"Go home, Sam."

Sam turned around, startled at the voice.

"We have one more set tonight, Charlie," Sam said.

"Yeah, and I can run it, blindfolded. You and I both know where you should be tonight."

"I do not pawn off my responsibilities on other people, Commander Leadore," Sam said, sternly. "This is my team, not yours."

"And no one thinks that you do, Commmander McGee," Charlie retorted. "You have more than one responsibility, and you've been shirking the other one."

"Excuse me?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow at Sam's tone.

"With all due respect, _Commander_ , you seem to be forgetting that you are a husband and father in addition to a commander in the U.S. Navy."

"You are out of line," Sam said.

"You don't outrank me, Sam," Charlie said. "You may be team lead, but I'm a commander, too."

Before Sam could do more than bristle a little, Charlie reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"More important than that, I'm your friend. You give every second you have to this, and that's great, but you shouldn't forget your family, too. They matter."

"I know they matter. They're _my_ family."

"I'm not saying you don't, Sam, but you need the break. If you take off an hour early, it's not going to hurt rapport with your team, but it _will_ help the rapport with Naomi. I know she's probably irritated at how little you've been home, lately."

That was far too true, but that wasn't going to change in the near future, and one night wasn't going to fix that. He shook his head.

"No, Charlie. This is my team and if they're still here, so am I. I will not require them to do more than I am willing to do. We have one more hour and I'm going to be here to lead my team for that hour. That's the end of it."

Charlie sighed and nodded.

"Yes, sir. They're ready."

"Good."

Sam walked out to the field. One more set of drills tonight and then, it would be a weekend off.

One more. One more. One more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Tim furrowed his brow. Where were files on Charles Leadore? They didn't seem to exist, even. It was as if this man had appeared out of thin air and then vanished into the ether with nothing afterwards. It was like he himself didn't seem to exist.

At least as far as the Navy was concerned.

That didn't seem right. Had he really left the Navy? If so, why wasn't there a file of some kind, like there had been for his father and Admiral Jackson? The government didn't tend to throw things away, so what had happened?

"A name change?" Tim mused aloud. "But there should be a record of that and why would he do it in the first place?"

This was seeming stranger and stranger. The more he looked for Charles Leadore, the more Tim felt that this was the key to figuring out what the mission had been that had led to his father's near death and his retirement from the Navy. If there had been a regular file with something like that he had taken early retirement or anything like that, Tim would probably have moved on, but this wasn't what he had expected.

This mattered.

"Okay, if this is important, then, it's time to start hacking because he doesn't seem to exist in the NCIS files," Tim said to himself.

He took a brief moment to regret that he couldn't do this legitimately, but then, he set that aside and forced himself to smile, even though he was alone.

"Fornell said that I'd hacked everything from the corner store to the CIA. How about...the DMV?"

This was something he'd really not ever hacked into...because he'd always had a search authorization in the past. How hard could it be, though? He knew how these kinds of systems worked. He'd used them often enough. He'd start in California since he knew that Charles Leadore had been there at one point. Perhaps he wouldn't be _from_ California and wouldn't have a driver's license issued by the state, but it was worth a try.

Before that, though, he got up and checked around the area to make sure that there were no intruders. As he headed to the back door, a sudden movement startled him and he backed into the shadows to watch for whatever or whoever it was.

After a few seconds, the same feral cat he'd seen before padded into view. He sighed with relief and a little irritation.

"Look," he said, sternly, "I realize that you're probably used to coming around here when you want to, but I'm in here right now. I'm a human and you're a cat. This is a human place, even if it's been abandoned. I'm allergic to cats and you're probably diseased, too. Please, leave me alone while I'm here."

The cat hissed at him and then ran off into the woods. Tim sighed again and went back to his computer. He sat down and prepared to start working, but then, he hesitated. There was one other thing he could do, but he wasn't sure if it was a good idea while he was so on edge.

He looked at his bag. Then, he reached over and pulled it to him. He opened one of the pockets and pulled out his gun. While he was on his own like this, it might make more sense to be armed at all times.

But still... part of him recoiled against the idea of possibly shooting someone because he was startled. What if a random person stopped by the side of the road and decided to investigate the shack? What if, against all odds, someone actually owned the land here and the person who owned the place came to check on this crumbling building? Would his tendency to disconnect from the world around him when he was hacking lead to a panicked shot if he was suddenly disturbed? It was one thing to be doing illegal hacking to save his father. It was quite another to kill a human being who might be completely innocent in all this.

What were the odds of this, anyway?

Really, why would he even think that there was that much of a risk? Right now, at the beginning of his hacking, no one would know where to look for him. They wouldn't even realize that they _needed_ to look for him.

No, he wouldn't carry his gun, but he'd still keep it close enough that he could grab it, if needed.

Decision made, he returned the gun to his bag and returned to his computer work.

A quick hack into the California DMV didn't result in any hits, but he knew that his dad had gone to Cornell University for his bachelor's degree and that he had been in the NROTC there. That would mean that Charles Leadore was there as well. Would online records go back that far? Tim wasn't sure of that, but he figured that it was worth a shot.

"Okay. Here we go."

Tim started to hack into Cornell University, first. He got into the university system rather easily and then, he looked for Charles Leadore. He didn't know if there was a middle name, but he knew that he was NROTC and that would probably be enough, even if there was more than one Charles Leadore in the system. He knew the basic dates and he knew one specific fact. That should be enough to turn up the right guy.

Suddenly, without any fanfare, there he was. Charles Forest Leadore. NROTC and a chemistry major. Interesting. Tim wasn't sure if that was significant, but he had to have _something_ to major in. Why not chemistry? He looked through the university files, but while he was significant to Tim, Charles Leadore didn't seem to have been significant in any other way. He was just another student among thousands. His grades were good enough to become a Navy officer, but they didn't stand out. He had apparently excelled in the NROTC, just like Sam had, but without the same number of commendations. The photo matched the man he'd seen in the family albums. So it was definitely the same person.

Tim looked a little bit more and saw that Charles Leadore had been from upstate New York and had graduated with honors from Shenendehowa High School in Clifton Park. So he had existed before all this. Well, Tim had known that he did since he'd been friends with Sam in college, but the lack of Navy records was so strange. He couldn't find any sign of a name change, either, and he had still been Charles to his father, so that meant that someone had hidden his records. Got rid of them completely? Unlikely.

"But that means that I'll have to get into something more secure in order to find what I'm looking for," Tim said softly.

More secure meant more potential for being caught. Still, that was the reason he'd done all this. That was why he was here in this shack. He wanted to be hidden when he started doing this. Now, it was time. Hopefully, they wouldn't be expecting him to look for Charles Leadore. They'd be expecting him to hack in for information about Sam McGee. That would give him some extra time and a little bit of leeway on the secure information. Hopefully.

So he turned his attention to the Department of Defense, hoping that the hack wouldn't be too difficult.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, Sam," Abby said. "Here's the finished product. Does this look like the man you saw this morning?"

She brought up the completed sketch. Sam leaned forward in his chair and examined the facial features carefully. Abby was intrigued as she watched him because there was so much of Tim in his expression right now. Really, she didn't think Tim looked very much like his father, but in this moment, Sam could be Tim trying to figure out some complicated coding. There were more lines on the face and the hair was graying, but still, it could really be Tim there.

"I would say that this is as close to perfectly matching the man I saw as is possible, recognizing that I might have forgotten a few details in the interim. Hopefully, it's good enough to get some results. This is a ruthless game and, to paraphase William S. Burroughs, 'there are no second chances in this political survival course.' He was talking about Mother Nature, of course, but I think it fits."

Abby grinned. "I think it does, too. How do you keep all those quotes in your head? It seems like you have one for nearly every occasion."

Naomi laughed. "It's more like ten or fifteen for every occasion. He just doesn't share them all."

With a sly grin, Sam said, "Ralph Waldo Emerson said, 'By necessity, by proclivity, and by delight, we all quote. In fact, it is as difficult to appropriate the thoughts of others as it is to invent.' I simply have been blessed with a memory for quoting the words of others, and it's something that brings me joy, so I try to keep it up when I can."

"Well, I'm mega-impressed."

"Glad I could improve my image. I can only imagine what Tim might have said about me."

"Oh, no! Tim actually doesn't talk about you guys much at all, and when he has...well, he told Tony that he told you what he did every day." She looked at Naomi, too. "And he told us that you had kept all his old computers and sent them to him just so that he could get the data off them."

Naomi smiled, and then, Abby could really see Tim in her. There was that little bit of restraint because she didn't know Abby very well and so was guarded about sharing her feelings completely.

"That was a simple thing, and it was relief because, once he got what he wanted, I could get them out of my hair."

Abby laughed. "It really is amazing to meet you. Both of you. I can see Tim in you."

"Which one?" Sam asked.

"Both. Really. It's like there are little pieces of both of you in Tim and it's fun to pick out the bits."

"Well, what happens, now?" Naomi asked.

"I'll get this to Gibbs and it'll be released as a BOLO to Metro, probably to the FBI, too, since we want them to know that we're looking for this jerk."

"He's probably just doing what he's told," Sam said. "Orders are orders."

"Well, it's still a scummy thing to do, and he should know better than to agree to it."

"I can't disagree with you there."

"I'll just call up and let them know," Abby said. She pulled out her phone and dialed Gibbs' number.

" _Not, now, Abbs. I'm busy,"_ Gibbs said in a low voice.

"Gibbs! The composite is done!"

" _Good. I'll let you know."_

"What about the McGees?"

" _Entertain them."_

Then, Gibbs hung up. Abby looked at her phone, feeling perplexed.

"Something wrong?" Naomi asked.

"No. I don't think so, but Gibbs must be in a meeting. So I'm supposed to entertain you until he's done."

"I think you can probably do a great job at that," Sam said. "How about entertaining us with stories about Tim?"

Abby grinned. "Okay. As long as you do the same."

"Deal."

Abby started telling them about the first time she met Tim, but her mind was partially on whatever it was that had Gibbs being so abrupt. What had happened?


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Sam, you can't keep doing this," Naomi said. "It's not good for us and it's not good for you."

"I have to see this through, Naomi. I can't just back out because it's hard. I knew it was going to be hard from the beginning."

"But not like this," Naomi said, firmly. "This is different and we both know it. You don't like what you're doing, and it's rubbing off on your family."

"I am not bringing work home."

"No, because you're never home anymore as it is!"

They were keeping their voices low, but Tim was over at a friend's house anyway, so it didn't matter quite as much. Still, they didn't want to have the neighbors listening in.

"That's an exaggeration."

"Maybe a _slight_ exaggeration, but not much. You know it. You're staying overnight, even! The times when you _do_ come home, you're here just before Tim goes to bed and you're gone again before he's even up. Sam, this isn't the way things are supposed to be."

"It's the way they have to be, Naomi. This is important. I can't expect more of my team than I do of myself."

"And that's admirable, but you should not be the one leading this operation, no matter what it is! And it's not about your ability. Of course, you can do this. We both know that you're very good at what you do. We both know that. It's not about whether or not you _can_. It's about whether or not you _should_. It's about your family. You aren't just living for yourself anymore. It's for me and for Tim! Sometimes..."

She stopped suddenly and turned away.

"What? What were you going to say, Naomi?"

"Nothing. I wasn't going to say anything. I know nothing is going to change. Let's just drop it."

"No. That's a lie. You were. Say it. Whatever it is. Say it," Sam said, although he was a little worried about whatever she had stopped herself from saying.

Naomi wouldn't look at him, but she spoke.

"Sometimes... I wonder if the reason I've had so many miscarriages is because, down deep, I know that I'll be basically a single mother to two children instead of one and I just can't face it."

Then, Naomi walked away, leaving Sam feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. He sat down on the couch and stared after her. The was pretty much the most wounding thing either of them had ever said to each other. No wonder she had stopped herself, but at the same time, Sam could see why she felt that way, even if it wasn't really true.

He looked at his watch. He had a late meeting tonight that he couldn't miss. He stood up and walked back to their bedroom where Naomi was sitting on their bed. He walked over to her.

"I have to get to my meeting," he said, gently. "You'll probably be asleep when I get back."

Naomi didn't look at him.

"No, I won't be. I'll be awake."

Sam hesitated, but then, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"I love you."

There was no response, so he turned and left.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Vance left them cooling their heels in his office for a few minutes. When he finally joined them, he sat down at his desk and stared hard at Gibbs in silence before finally getting down to business.

"What is going on, Agent Gibbs?" Vance asked. "You say that the McGees came to you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why not? Their son is on my team."

"Why are they in DC at all?" Vance asked. "My understanding is that they live in Ohio with no particular reason to be making the 350-mile trip. So why were they here in the first place and why come to you?"

"Because of McGee," Gibbs said. "They were hoping that I knew where he was."

Vance raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And what? I don't."

"That's not what I'm asking, Gibbs, and you know it."

"Only answer I have," Gibbs said.

Tony watched the volley of words, waiting for the moment when Vance would step back from his role as director. He tended to do that in these situations, but he had to get through the official stuff, first. Everyone in the room knew that, but at the same time, it wasn't that Vance was just playing a role for the sake of playing the role. He meant what he was saying and he'd decided that they needed to hear it, but he was also a human being who had his own ideas about what might be necessary or useful.

"So this does not have anything to do with Agent McGee's quitting?"

"I don't know," Gibbs retorted. "Does it?"

"This isn't a game, Gibbs," Vance said. "This isn't a test. I'm not asking you this for fun."

"Then, why are you?"

"Because this could be very dangerous if you go too far."

"I haven't gone anywhere, yet, Director. I have a man who was threatened by someone who seems to be involved in the case against him. Would you rather I had ignored that just because the man in question happens to be McGee's father?"

Vance sighed and then, stood up and walked to the door. He opened it and leaned out.

"Ms. Long, no interruptions."

"Yes, Director."

"Thank you."

He closed the door and turned around.

"Agent McGee is still an employee of NCIS."

Tony furrowed his brow.

"You told us that he quit."

"Yes, and I have covered that up. I deleted the forms he sent me. I went to HR and told them it was a mistake and not to process the resignation," Vance said, bluntly. "He asked that I not push to remove his access to NCIS files and that is very difficult to do when a person no longer works for NCIS."

"Why would you do this?" Tony asked. "Isn't it against the rules?"

"Yes, it is, Agent DiNozzo. Congratulations on picking up on that," Vance said, sarcastically.

Tony grimaced. "I mean, that could be risky for you, too."

"Yes, I may end up regretting it."

"When did he ask you to do that?" Gibbs asked.

"In the email he sent. I just didn't tell you, and I wouldn't be telling you now if it weren't for the fact that you've already started stepping into the area I told you to stay away from. Your getting involved with the McGees is only making this more difficult."

"Not my fault."

"Maybe not, but we can't be working at cross purposes here," Vance said, seriously. "I'm not actively helping McGee in what he's doing. I can't do that, but I'm keeping tabs on how much he's using NCIS resources, and he's already been logged in. Agent Keating is keeping me apprised."

"Keating?" Tony repeated, incredulously.

"Yes."

"Why him?"

"Because whether you like him or not, he's the only one down there who knows anything about keeping his mouth shut. He knows nothing more than that I'm wanting to know when McGee logs in. As far as he's concerned, this could just be a secret undercover mission and he's not asking questions. The problem is that McGee got started so fast. He's already set up shop and ready to start working. He's not wasting any time with his work, and that makes me worried. It could move too quickly to stop things from going to pot. I don't want to be standing in the way when it hits the fan and I probably couldn't get him out of the way, either."

"Why not just tell us right away?"

Vance smiled. "I believe Gibbs has a rule about keeping secrets, Agent DiNozzo. I know you'll be getting involved more actively than I can. You need to know that, for all intents and purposes, he is still employed here. Plan accordingly. He is already working on whatever it is he feels is necessary. Combine that with the fact that they're already starting to threaten the McGees..."

"And come to the obvious conclusion," Gibbs said. "They're watching for someone to do what McGee is doing."

Vance nodded. "Exactly. And it's possible that they've seen that he's doing it. That means that they'll be starting to search for him already. It's only been a couple of days, but with how fast McGee is apparently working, they're going to try to move even faster to stop him."

"At any cost?" Tony suggested.

"Very likely."

"Do you know who's calling the shots?" Gibbs asked.

"No. I don't have a clue. I don't know what the mission was and I don't know if Sam McGee is guilty or innocent, although I'm assuming innocent for the time being."

"Nice of you," Tony said. "That's more than the people who started this are doing, apparently."

Suddenly, Gibbs' phone rang. He answered it.

"Not now, Abbs. I'm busy." He listened for a few seconds. "Good. I'll let you know."

Tony could just faintly hear Abby's voice. She didn't really seem to know how to be quiet, but at least, he couldn't understand what she was saying.

"Entertain them."

Then, Gibbs hung up and turned back to Vance.

"Are you going to try to tell us not to do anything?"

"Do I need to?" Vance asked.

"No."

"I didn't think so. You need to watch out, Gibbs. I know, more or less, what you're planning to do and I know why, but it's still a stupid idea. Right or wrong, it's stupid and you shouldn't get any more involved than you already are."

"Understood."

"Good, not that I think you'll care about that."

"How much more are you going to do?" Gibbs asked.

"I've done what I can so far. Hopefully, no more will be necessary," Vance said.

"Anything else?"

"No. Not for now. Watch your back, Gibbs. I don't know how high it goes, but it's higher than both of us, and it's definitely higher than Agent McGee."

Gibbs nodded and stood. Tony followed suit and they left Vance's office, heading for, of course, Gibbs' office in the elevator.

"The Druer case?" Gibbs asked.

"I think I found what Legal needed on McGee's computer," Tony said. "I hope. We'll see if they ask for more later."

"Last chance to back out of this," Gibbs said.

Tony scoffed at him. "Come on, Boss. You know that I'm not backing out. I never back out, even when I probably should. This time, it's not just about the job. It could be about McGee's life, and I can't back out, knowing that."

Gibbs nodded.

"Get all of McGee's work on the Druer case onto your computer."

Tony nodded. "Just in case."

"Yeah. I'll talk to Ducky about the BOLO."

"Are we stepping over the line yet?" Tony asked.

"Not yet. We have to see what we find without doing that, first."

"But if they're already moving..."

"They'll still have the same problem we have: finding him."

"But more resources and no oversight."

"But we _know_ him. They don't. They have the resources. We have the knowledge. They still have to find him, and Tim's not stupid."

"Okay."

"We work fast, but only as fast as we need to. Anything we do could lead them to him, too."

"Right, Boss. I hear you."

The elevator went back on and Tony headed for Tim's desk again while Gibbs went down to talk to Ducky.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance sat down as the door closed. This was moving _too_ fast. He didn't know how it all had suddenly accelerated like this. He had thought it could drag out for weeks because he had confidence that Tim could hide himself rather effectively. He knew that Tim was very good at his job, that he had learned a lot in his time at NCIS, and that he wouldn't hesitate to draw on that knowledge in this case.

Gibbs had asked the most important question, whether he realized it or not. How much was he going to do for Tim?

Vance had already done more than he should based strictly on his job. But from the position of a person concerned about one of his employees, he hadn't done enough. This wouldn't stop Tim from paying a hefty price if he was caught and unable to force the hands of the people calling the shots.

He looked around the office. This had been his goal for a number of years. He had what he wanted. Could he risk losing it?

If the situation called for it, absolutely.

Did it?

At this point, no, but with how fast everything was developing, it might turn out to call for it, and he would have to be ready for whatever that might lead to.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs strode into Autopsy and looked around. It appeared to be empty. That wasn't normal.

"Ducky?"

The freezer opened and Jimmy came out. He stopped.

"Agent Gibbs! Uh... Can I help you?"

"Where's Ducky?"

"He's not in yet. I don't know why. I decided to get everything ready before I called him. He sometimes gets a little snippy if I check on him."

Gibbs smiled a little. He could see why Ducky would find that concern galling at times. Still, he wasn't checking on him. He needed to ask him a question. So he pulled out his own phone and dialed Ducky's number.

It rang twice and then Ducky answered.

" _Jethro, don't even say a word about my being late. I may never speak to you again if you do,"_ Ducky said, sounding extremely irritated.

"What's up, Duck?"

" _I'm currently stuck in a massive traffic jam. Because of road construction, I was forced to change my usual route and there was an accident on the George Washington Memorial Parkway. I missed the last exit and now I'm surrounded by a mass of humanity. I am stuck."_

"Nothing's moving?"

" _Nothing as yet, and let me tell you that it is not a pleasant situation."_

"Let me call you back in a couple of minutes."

" _I'm sure I'll still be here. In this exact spot. Surrounded by what feels like every driver in the Metro area."_

Gibbs hung up and looked at Jimmy.

"Ducky's stuck in traffic on the parkway."

Jimmy grimaced. "Oh, that sucks. I'll just keep getting everything ready, then."

"Call him if you have questions. He'll appreciate it."

Jimmy grinned. "I can do that."

Gibbs left Jimmy to his work and walked out of the building through the Autopsy exit. Once he was outside, he walked over to the Anacostia and called Ducky again.

" _I'm still here, Jethro,"_ Ducky said, sourly.

"Good. I have something for you to do."

" _With regard to what?"_

"How would you feel about being a secret go-between?"

" _Who is the other party involved?"_

"Metro."

" _Metro? What for?"_

"To get them to do some covert searching for McGee's car."

" _Timothy's car? Do you really think he's still driving it? I find that to be unlikely. Surely, he would find that to be too obvious a clue. I think he would have dumped it somewhere."_

"So do I."

" _Then, what's the point?"_

"To find where he's been and where he might be going next."

" _Not something official?"_

"If that's possible."

" _It may be. I could ask."_

"Do it."

" _So how wide do you want them to cast their net?"_

Gibbs considered. He agreed with Abby that it was likely that Tim was relatively close to DC, but at the same time, that could cover five different states.

"Within 200 miles of DC."

" _That will cover more than Metro's jurisdiction."_

"I know."

" _All right. I'll give it a try. ...when I have the time."_

"You have some, now."

Ducky groaned. _"Yes, I do. I'll call them."_

"Thanks, Duck."

" _I hope it helps."_

"So do I."

Gibbs hung up and started back inside. As he did, he looked around the Yard for anyone that might be out of place. As he looked, he noticed one man in Willard Park. He was sitting, talking on his phone, apparently having an animated conversation.

But there was something off about him. Gibbs couldn't put his finger on what it was, but this man did not belong in Willard Park.

They were already watching here.

Gibbs debated about what to do. Pretend that he hadn't noticed or make his awareness obvious? He considered for a few seconds and then decided that it was better to keep _some_ things secret. Let them think that NCIS was oblivious to observation.

He walked back into the building and headed for Abby's lab. There was still plenty to do.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Tim was reading. Sam couldn't see what it was, but he was reading. This was the first time he'd been home during the day in almost a month. He and Naomi were walking carefully around each other after their last argument. Some painful things had been said on both sides and they were trying not to go back to that.

It was an uneasy truce, but it was working so far.

Today, though, Naomi was gone all day, getting some time to herself, and Sam was home with Tim. So far, Tim hadn't really spoken to him. Sam might as well not even be there. Tim was just reading. The house was almost silent, and the silence wasn't pleasant as far as Sam was concerned. It just seemed to emphasize the growing separation between him and his son.

He didn't have to let that be the way it was, though. While he didn't want to interrupt Tim if he was really interested in what he was reading, he also wanted his son to know that he didn't _have_ to sit around all day while Sam was there.

He walked into the living room.

"Tim? What are you reading?"

Tim jumped and sat up. He looked at the book and then held it up for his dad to see.

" _Encyclopedia Brown, Boy Detective,_ " he said aloud. "Is it good?"

"Yes. I like it. It's a puzzle," Tim said. "It's always something that no one else can figure out, but Encyclopedia Brown does. He even solves cases the police can't solve, and I get the chance to do that, too, when I read."

"Do you want to keep reading?"

Tim put the book down and looked at him with an expression that could only be evaluating, although it was too old an expression to be on a seven-year-old's face.

"Would _we_ do something if I didn't read?" he asked.

Sam smiled. "Yes. If you wanted to."

"Like what?"

"What do you want to do?"

Tim started chewing the inside of his cheek as he thought about it. Sam let him, even if he wanted to get his son to hurry up and make a decision. Instead of just being a simple question, Tim was considering it like it was a life-or-death decision.

"I want to go to Palomar Observatory," Tim said, finally.

"Palomar?" Sam asked, in surprise.

"They have a really big telescope and they let people see it! My teacher told me about it!"

"I've never been there," Sam said. "Do you know where it is?"

"On Mount Palomar," Tim said, reasonably.

Sam knew that Palomar was somewhere nearby, but he had no idea how to get there. He chuckled.

"Well, then, we'd better get out the atlas and see where Mount Palomar is."

"You don't know?"

"Nope."

"I thought you would know."

It was almost like he'd disappointed his son by not instantly knowing the way. Sam tried to keep smiling.

"Dads don't know everything."

"They don't?"

"Nope, but good dads want to learn. So if it's not too far, we'll go, Tim."

"Really?"

"If it's not too far. If it is, then, we'll have to wait and go another day when we have more time. Okay?"

Tim furrowed his brow, but he nodded.

"Let's get the atlas. We'll find it together."

"Okay."

Tim picked up his book, carefully marked the page he was on, and then, ran to get the atlas. It had been a long time since they'd been able to go on a family trip. In seconds, Tim was back in the room with the atlas.

Together, they opened it up to the page for southern California.

"Okay, Tim. Where are we?"

Tim looked at the map.

"Remember to find San Diego, first."

Tim ran his finger across the map.

"There's San Diego!"

"And where are we?"

"North Island Naval Air Station," Tim said.

"And that has to be close to the water."

"Yes. It's an island!"

Tim looked around some more.

"There it is!"

"Good. Now, let's find Mount Palomar."

That took a little longer, in part because Sam himself didn't know exactly where it was. He knew it was north of San Diego.

Then, Tim let out a shout.

"I found it!"

He pointed down at the map. Sure enough, there was a small label for the observatory. The road looked like it was going to be a beast to drive up. Lots of switchbacks, and it was on a mountain. So it was probably steep as well. Still, Sam looked at Tim eager expression, and he knew that he was going to say that they were going to the observatory. He didn't care how far it was. Tim wanted to go, and Sam had the time to take him.

"It looks like that'll be a couple of hours," Sam said. "We'll need to leave your mother a note, just in case she beats us home."

Tim nodded and ran to get a piece of paper and a pen. Sam looked at the map and hoped that he wouldn't regret driving that road.

But when Tim came running back into the room, a big smile on his face, he couldn't imagine regretting it. He'd be spending time with his son, and for once, there would be no interruptions because they'd be away from phones. No sudden meetings. No questions. Just Sam and Tim, driving to the Palomar Observatory.

Tim gave him the paper and pen, and Sam wrote a quick note.

 _Naomi,_

 _Tim and I have gone to Palomar Observatory. I've never driven there before, but we're taking a map, so hopefully, I won't get us lost. I'm estimating a couple of hours both there and back, plus however long Tim wants to stay when we get up there._

 _I love you,_

 _Sam_

Tim and Sam took the note into the kitchen and set it prominently on the counter. Then, they grabbed some snacks to eat along the way and got in the car.

It was a long drive.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Ducky groaned as he looked at the sea of cars around him, but calling one of his friends at Metro would be a good way to pass the time, and if secrecy was really important, this was a good place to make the call. The idea that anyone would be waiting for him to make a call while stuck in a traffic jam was absolutely ridiculous.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that he had more friends at Metro than Gibbs did. It wasn't really a surprise, given Gibbs' personality, but it was fairly entertaining.

He decided to call a detective he knew fairly well. Jordan had introduced them at a social function and they had found a lot in common, including, amazingly enough, an interest in cricket. Ducky had not found many Americans who shared his passion for the sport.

" _Detective Lewiston."_

"Hello, Detective Lewiston. It's Dr. Mallard. Do you have a moment?"

" _Sure. Don, what has you calling me right now?"_

"I'm currently stuck in traffic, and I need a favor, if you can do it."

" _Oh, you're in the jam on the parkway?"_

"Yes. Any chance of it getting cleared up soon?"

" _They'll have one lane open in about ten minutes, but that'll still leave things moving real slow."_

"I was afraid of that. I missed the last exit and I am definitely stuck here. That's not my reason for calling, however."

" _So what is?"_

"I was hoping that you might be able to issue a BOLO, but not officially."

" _Meaning?"_

"Meaning that people would know to look for a particular car but it wouldn't be spoken of officially and there would be no record of it."

" _I don't know, Don. That sounds pretty sketchy."_

"I realize that, but there is a good reason for it."

" _Well, could you tell me what that reason is?"_

"We are trying to find one of our coworkers. He is trying not to be found, but it is vitally important that we do find him." Ducky hesitated and then decided to give one more piece of information. "...before others do who have much less savory motives."

" _I take it that you can't tell me anything more than that?"_

"I'm sorry, no. I can't. I can only say that the man we're looking for is a good person and what he is doing is trying to right a wrong. He's just going about it in a very dangerous way."

" _I see."_

There was a silence. It lasted about a minute. Ducky tried to be patient because he knew that what he was asking was difficult. Lewiston was a very by-the-book person, and he didn't like bending the rules, let alone breaking them. However, he was also someone who, much like Tim, saw things as black and white and didn't like when they got gray.

" _Okay, Don. I'll do it. I can't make any guarantees because I'll have to be careful about who I tell about it."_

"I understand that, and anything you can do is more than I could hope for."

" _And you just want the car?"_

"Yes. We know he's probably not driving it, but if we can find it, it may give us a sense of where to start looking."

" _Okay. Lay it on me."_

"The car is a Porsche Boxster. Gray. I believe it's a 2006 model. Maryland plate, number 3AB 532."

" _License plate 3AB 532,_ " Lewiston repeated. _"Okay. I've got it."_

"We think he is probably relatively close to the Metro area, perhaps a 200-mile radius?"

" _That's a wider area than I was expecting. I really can't guarantee anything."_

"I know. Believe me, I understand your reticence and I respect it. If you decide that you can't go any further, I will accept your decision completely."

" _Good. This wasn't what I would have expected to hear from you, Don."_

"I know, and normally, I wouldn't ask you, but I know that if anyone could manage it, you could, and I trust you."

" _No need to butter me up, Don. I already said yes."_

Ducky chuckled. "Buttering up always helps, but it also has the virtue of being the truth."

" _I'll get going on this right away, but I don't know how long it'll take to get results, if we get any at all."_

"Understood."

" _I've got another call coming in. Good luck getting through the traffic jam."_

"Thank you."

Lewiston hung up and Ducky did the same. He had known there would be some reluctance, but as he had said, Lewiston was about the best person he could ask.

Suddenly, the cars ahead of him began to inch forward. Any motion was better than none, so Ducky set his phone down and prepared for a slow crawl toward freedom.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim groaned as his attempt to get into the Department of Defense servers failed yet again. It would certainly help if he knew exactly where he needed to go, but he didn't. It wasn't even that he could just focus on the Navy side of things because, with Charles Leadore's file missing, probably suppressed, there was no telling where the information might be, if there was any to be found.

He looked at his watch and realized that he'd been at this for more than six hours without a single break. He was not only hungry, but he also needed to answer the call of nature. ...and his laptop needed recharging.

Tim stood and staggered. His legs were definitely cramping a little from his position on the floor. His back was hurting a little, too. He stood and stretched, arching his back and trying to limber up a little bit.

Before leaving the shack, he looked out the windows, checking to make sure that no one would be around to see him. Satisfied that he was still alone, he left the shack. First, he walked to the car and hooked the laptop up to the battery for recharging. Then, he headed for a convenient tree, far enough removed from the building to keep the smell away and to (hopefully) keep any curious animals away.

Having finished his business, he walked back into the shack. It would take some time for the laptop to recharge, and he figured that he could take some time to recharge himself. That meant water and granola bars and a couple of crackers.

As he ate his meager meal, he considered what else he might need to do to get into the DoD. He knew he _could_ do it. It was just a matter of how long it would take. The DMV had been no trouble, but then, the DMV wasn't holding national security information. He would just have to keep trying until he got in. He knew other things to try, different angles to come at it.

"I'll make it," he said.

He got up and started pacing around the shack, thinking about how he'd get into the Department of Defense.

"I got into the CIA in one night. Why can't I do this?" he asked himself.

Then, he laughed.

"Because I don't have Gibbs hovering over my shoulder threatening my life if I don't do what he wants right when he wants it."

Once he'd thought of that, he had this image of what Gibbs would be saying to him if he was here.

" _You've already screwed up your life, McGee. Why are you taking so long doing what you came out here to do? If you're going to be stupid, at least be quick about it. I don't care what it takes. Get it done!"_

Of course, that was way too wordy for Gibbs. Well, maybe that was a little uncharitable, too. Surely, Gibbs would understand the motivation behind Tim's decision.

"Yeah, but he'll still want to kill me for not telling him in advance."

It was true, but Tim still felt he'd made the best decision. Sure, they'd be trying to find him. He was certain of that, but he'd done his best to keep them from getting involved in something that could end their careers. Maybe he could use the help, but unlike others on the team, he didn't want to have their help at the expense of their jobs. He wasn't going to have that on his conscience for the rest of his life, no matter where that life was spent. In fact, maybe it would be best if they were really mad at him. Then, they'd be less likely to be upset if he went to prison. They could just think that it served him right for being so stupid.

Then, he saw movement out the front window, interrupting his thoughts.

A car!

He ducked down quickly and waited as the car approached and then passed by the house. He tensed until he couldn't hear the car any longer. Then, he let out a whoosh of air as he exhaled in relief. No sign of being observed, no sign of curiosity. Just a person driving down this road on their way to somewhere else.

Okay. It was back to work. He walked back to his car and checked the battery. It was full enough for another few hours of use. Nodding to himself, Tim carried it back into the shack and set up his system once more and stared at the screen. It had been a _long_ time since he'd done these all-day stints at hacking or cracking encryptions. He wasn't really used to it anymore. It was draining, but he figured that he would adjust, just like he had in college. With a smile, he figured that he was spending about as much on food as he was in college, too. He hadn't had a lot of extra cash on hand as an undergraduate.

He cracked his neck, popped his knuckles and took a deep breath. Time to get going again.

"I can do this. I can do this. I _have_ to do this."

If he failed, all this effort wouldn't mean anything. It was all well and good to say that it only mattered if you gave it your best shot. In this case, best didn't mean diddly-squat if he didn't succeed. This only mattered if it worked. If not, then, it was a total and complete failure. A waste of time, a waste of effort, a waste of life.

 _So I can't fail._

He took one more deep breath and dove in.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Wow. We're really high up," Tim said, looking out the car window. "Don't drive off the edge, Dad!"

He'd already said that or other phrases close to it multiple times as Sam had driven up the switchbacks on the way up to Palomar. He was biting his tongue not to yell at Tim for being distracting and being obvious. This was not a pleasant drive. If he had known just what the road was like, he would have told Tim to come up with a different idea. It would be better to drive to Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles and face all that city traffic than to be forced to navigate these mountain roads.

However, they had to be more than halfway up by now, and going back down would only mean that they'd gone to all this effort for nothing. Besides that, he wasn't sure he could actually turn the car around on these switchbacks. It wasn't worth trying.

Finally, they got to the top and Sam stifled a sigh of relief. He really didn't want to let Tim know how nervous and tense he'd been. Of course, they still had to get back down, but that would be later on. For now, they could drive to the observatory and Sam just hoped that this would be worth it.

He drove to the parking lot and then, they got out of the car and walked toward the observatory.

"Dad! Look! Look at it! It's a dome! It's a big dome like a humongous ice cream cone and it opens and there's a huge telescope inside!" Tim said, almost squealing with delight.

Sam wasn't sure he'd _ever_ seen Tim this excited. It was like he was ready to explode with glee at what he was seeing. Even if this was the biggest disappointment for Sam, he could see that it could not be a disappointment to Tim.

For the next hour, he let Tim drag him from place to place in the observatory. They had missed the chance to take a guided tour, but Sam figured that the tour would be a bit much for Tim anyway. He just wanted to look at every nook and cranny he was allowed to look at. And look he did. He would grab Sam's arm and pull him to his knees to tell him something else that he could see that was the most amazing thing ever. Then, after Sam agreed that it was the most amazing thing ever, he was off to the next thing. The process repeated over and over again, and Sam was amazed that Tim didn't get tired of it.

Finally, when it looked like they'd seen what they could see, Tim dragged him to the gift shop. He declared that he wanted one of everything. Sam declared that he could pick _one_ thing.

That led to another twenty minutes of looking around the store.

Suddenly, Tim ran up to him with, of all things a mug, in his hands.

"Here, Dad!"

"You want a mug?"

"No. This is for _you_. You should have this. I'm still looking."

He shoved the mug into Sam's hand and then ran off again. Sam looked at it and furrowed his brow a little bit. It had a picture of the Hale Telescope mirror on it with words around the edge.

"'Make no small plans. Dream no small dreams,'" he read aloud. That sounded like a paraphrase of a quote by Goethe. "'Dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men.'"

He thought about that for a couple of minutes. What was it about that statement that had grabbed his attention? It was like it was something meant specifically for him.

His musing was suddenly interrupted.

"Dad! Can I get this shirt? Please? Can I?"

Tim held up a shirt that had the same thing as the mug. Sam smiled.

"That's fine. What about your mother?"

"Oh!"

Sam stifled a groan as Tim ran back to looking at the displays of souvenirs again. Thankfully, he was a little quicker. He came back carefully carrying a glass. Sam smiled. It was a pint glass with the Palomar Observatory on it. Oh, well. It didn't cost too much.

"Okay. That looks great. Let's get them and then, we'll head back down."

"Okay!"

Sam paid for the souvenir and the person at the counter grinned at him as Tim started looking around again.

"Are you going to get out of here without spending more?" he asked.

Sam chuckled. "Yes, because I will _not_ buy anything more. Thanks."

"Enjoy."

"We will. Tim, let's go."

"Okay!"

They went back to the car. And it was back down the switchbacks with Tim telling him to be careful to not drive off the edge all the way down.

Tim talked about the trip to Palomar for weeks.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Sam and Naomi left Abby's lab and headed back up to the bullpen. Gibbs met them there.

"What happens, now, Agent Gibbs?" Naomi asked. "We've been cooling our heels down there for a couple of hours."

"I'm sorry for the delay, ma'am," Gibb said. "We do have other things we have to work on."

It was, unfortunately, true. He had been called up to Legal about the Druer case almost as soon as he'd stepped out of Vance's office. Normally, this would have been Tim's responsibility, but he didn't want to bring that up. The less anyone thought about that, the better.

"I'm sure that's the case, but surely, we don't need to stay in this building permanently."

"Only if you really want to, ma'am," Gibbs said, with a slight smile.

"I don't. I'll admit that I was nervous in the beginning, but now that you're doing something about it, I don't want to be seen as hiding, and no offense, but this isn't exactly the most comfortable place."

"Not supposed to be."

"I'm sure of that." Sam said. "So what now?"

"Now, we issue the BOLO. If you'd like, we can have someone keeping an eye on your hotel for the next few days to watch for the man you described," Gibbs said. "If not, then, you can simply leave and let us know if we can be of any help."

"I think that we'll just go. I'd hope that this would be enough, but you can bet that we'll call if something else comes up," Sam said.

"I hope you will."

"Thank you, Agent Gibbs," Naomi said. "We really appreciate your help."

"I hope it works out."

Sam nodded and then, he rolled toward the elevator.

"I'll take you out," Tony said.

"Sure."

They got on the elevator and rode it down to the main floor. Tony stepped out and held the door open as Sam rolled off. Sam started for the exit, but then, he stopped and turned around.

"Agent DiNozzo, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Tony said. He stepped away from the elevator and let the doors close.

Sam thought about how to phrase the question, but then, he just decided to ask, no matter what.

"What do you think about my son?"

"Uh..."

Sam smiled. "I know. That's a loaded question, but it's mostly curiosity. What's going on here is making your life difficult, I'm sure. So...what does that mean to you?"

Tony took a deep breath and then let it out.

"Tim is on my team. He has been for years. He's also my friend...and I think I understand why he decided to do this, even if it makes me really annoyed that he went off on his own to do it. Things just aren't right here with him gone. So...I'm hoping that we can get through this in the best way possible."

Sam put out his hand.

"Thank you, Agent DiNozzo. Thank you for not giving up on my son. I have a lot of people watching my back. It's good to know that someone is watching his."

"Even if he doesn't want us to."

"Especially then," Sam said.

Tony shook his hand and then got back on the elevator.

"Well, Naomi? Ready to go?"

"I'm ready."

They left NCIS and Sam found himself looking around for the man again, although that seemed rather ridiculous.

As they headed for a taxi, Naomi sighed.

"It'll be all right," Sam said.

"Hopefully," Naomi said. "You need to call Sarah when we get back to the hotel."

"Oh?"

"She needs to hear you say that you're okay."

"I can do that."

"And be honest?"

"Are you implying that I'm not honest?"

"I'm implying that you might have good reason not to be when speaking to your daughter," Naomi said. "You tend to try to protect your family when things get really bad."

Sam felt a little irritated, but since it was also the truth, he just shrugged.

"It's not at that point just yet," he said.

"I'll keep that in mind."

The ride back to the hotel was, more or less, silent. They got back into their hotel room without any other confrontations. When they got in, Sam called Sarah, letting her know that he really was fine. She was a bit worried, but not nearly as much as Tim had been. Sarah had never felt the sense of responsibility that Tim did, in part because of her place in the family. They had almost given up on ever having another child when Naomi had become pregnant. She was their unexpected gift and she had been a bit spoiled.

It only took a few minutes of chatting for Sarah to feel that it was okay for her to stay in England and to believe that, while things were serious, they were not as bad as they could be. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't exactly the truth. Still, Sam knew that Sarah couldn't possibly do anything besides worry and they had enough worriers on hand at the moment. He promised her that he would tell her if and when the trial would start.

Then, he hung up the phone.

"Well?" Naomi asked.

"She's staying in England until we tell her otherwise."

"Good. Now, what are we going to do with the rest of our day? It's afternoon and we have nothing we have to be doing right now."

Sam thought about it. There was only one thing that was appealing to him at this moment.

He rolled over to the bed and got onto it.

"I'm going to take a nap," he said and leaned back to relax as much as he could.

"A nap? Your life is possibly on the line, your son is AWOL, and you've been threatened by an unknown person and you're taking a nap?" Naomi asked, although she was smiling a little bit.

Sam looked at her and grinned.

"Ernest Hemingway. 'I love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?'"

"You could make up anything and I'd have no idea whether or not your quotes were genuine, Sam."

"They're all genuine. I swear."

"Then, give me one about taking naps. Not just sleep, but napping."

Sam smiled. "You don't think I can."

"There have to be limits, even to _your_ quoting prowess."

"There are, but napping is not it, and this one is even from ancient Rome. Ovid. 'There is more refreshment and stimulation in a nap, even of the briefest, than in all the alcohol ever distilled.'"

Naomi laughed. "I will never figure out how you know all these."

"I have tenure. That's how," Sam said. "Now, why don't you lie down beside me and discover the joys of napping."

For a moment, he thought Naomi would refuse. It did seem a little wasteful to be lying around when so much was going wrong. Then, she nodded and climbed onto the bed. She moved his legs to the side and curled up beside him. Sam put his arm around her and pulled her close. Then, he leaned his head on hers.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you," Naomi replied.

Then, it was silent as the two of them gradually fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Bud Roberts headed down the hall, planning on meeting Harriet for an early dinner before he went back to work on an upcoming case. He noticed that Faith's door was closed. He hadn't seen her for a few days and decided to drop by. Harriet wouldn't mind if she joined them.

He knocked.

There was no answer. He furrowed his brow. Maybe she was gone for the day, although it was early for that. Faith tended to stay _later_ as a matter of course, not leave earlier.

He knocked again.

"Captain Coleman?" he asked.

There was silence, but then, he heard her tread to the door. She opened it and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Captain Roberts?"

Bud looked at Faith more carefully.

"Is there something wrong, Faith?"

"Was there something you needed?" she asked in return.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to join Harriet and me for a late lunch slash early dinner. I have to stay late tonight, and we figured this would be the best option so that I can get home in time to say good night to the kids."

Faith looked back toward her office and furrowed her brow. It was too much focus for such a simple question.

"It's not necessary if you don't want to. I was just asking."

Faith turned back to him and smiled.

"No. That will work well." She walked back into her office before coming out and locking her door behind her.

"Is something wrong?" Bud asked again.

"Not now," she said. "Is Harriet meeting us outside?"

"Yes." Bud wasn't sure where this was coming from, but he was guessing that there was something bigger going on than he knew.

They walked out of JAG together and Bud waved to Harriet who looked surprised to see Faith, too, but quickly covered her surprise.

"Faith! Nice to see you."

"You, too. I hope I'm not intruding."

"Absolutely not, but we're not staying on the Yard."

Faith smiled.

"Good."

As they walked to the car, Bud wondered anew at how stiff and formal Faith tended to be. She wasn't always so stiff, but when she was on duty, it was formality all the way. It was like the uniform made her into a different person, although the precision was always there. He hoped that she'd relax just a little bit.

Harriet took them to an Italian place not too far from the Yard. They got a table fairly quickly and started looking at the menu. Bud asked Harriet about her day. Faith said nothing. She appeared to be looking at the menu, but she seemed distracted. Harriet widened her eyes in a silent question. Bud just shrugged. He had no idea.

When the waiter came, they ordered and then Harriet looked at Faith.

"You don't seem your usual self. What's going on, Faith?"

"I have to make a decision that could end up being dangerous for me," Faith said, bluntly. "I've been deciding what to do."

"Dangerous?" Bud asked. "I haven't heard about..."

"That's because you shouldn't have. The only reason I have is because of Agent Gibbs."

"With NCIS?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell us anything more than that?" Bud asked.

"Only if you really want to know. I'm trying to avoid talking about it at JAG because I've already been told that I shouldn't be involved...by a man I don't even know. I tried to check on his credentials, but he's not in the database."

Faith was saying it all calmly, but Bud had the feeling that she wasn't really calm at all.

"I want to know," Bud said.

"Agent Gibbs told me that there is a former Navy commander who will be facing charges in a general court martial for a Top Secret operation that happened thirty years ago. He's certain that the man is innocent, as he often is, and if it does come to a trial, he'll need representation. He has a lawyer, but not one with military experience. It's become apparent that there are high-ranking people who don't want this man to have help, that they're not above making threats, even to me once I asked questions. My problem is deciding whether or not I'm prepared for what might happen if I agree to take this on."

"Wow," Bud said, after a moment. "Why you?"

To his surprise, Faith smiled a little.

"Because I'm certain that Agent Gibbs enjoys making my life difficult, and given that I'm one of the few JAG lawyers he's on relatively good terms with, I guess he feels that I'm the best option."

"Are you going to do it?" Harriet asked. "Do you know the man involved?"

"Only by name. I don't want to make any promises before I make a final decision."

"And not very many people at JAG will be willing to even consider it," Bud said. "This sounds pretty dicey, Faith."

"It is. I don't care so much about my career, though. If it comes to that, there are always other options."

Bud was interested in Faith's attitude. He'd always seen her as being eminently capable. That was the way she always seemed to be, but he was pretty sure that, beneath her calm and controlled exterior, she was actually somewhat anxious. That she was admitting to simple uncertainty was a surprise as far as Bud was concerned.

"But I can see why you're hesitating," Harriet said. Then, she looked at Bud. "It could get risky."

Bud could see her implicit warning. He was _not_ to sign up for it, not when he had a family to support. He smiled. While there was a slight temptation, he understood, but that didn't mean he couldn't act as moral support, if needed.

"I'm fairly certain it will."

"That poor man, though," Harriet said. "I can't imagine having to deal with something like this, especially after so long. It must have come out of nowhere for him. What's he been doing?"

"He's an English professor. He's also been in a wheelchair since a car accident twenty years ago," Faith said.

"And they're still coming after him? That's terrible," Harriet said, sounding almost offended at the idea.

"If he was guilty, the wheelchair wouldn't mean anything," Faith said, almost sternly. "Walking or not has no bearing on his guilt or innocence."

"But if they thought he was guilty of something wouldn't they have gone after him thirty years ago?" Harriet asked. "Especially if it was Top Secret. They could have hidden a lot of things without bothering to go through all this now."

"That is a point in his favor, although there have been delays in trials in the past."

"But I'd be most interested in the fact that Agent Gibbs believes he's innocent," Bud said. "That's not a casual thing, and while he's not infallible, still, that does give some support."

"Yes."

Their meals came out and they started eating. Faith indicated that they should talk about normal things and so Bud asked about Nikki's upcoming dance recital and A.J.'s football game the next week. Once they finished, Faith insisted on paying and then, Harriet drove them back to JAG. She made Bud promise to get home at a reasonable hour and then, she let them out.

Bud walked back inside with Faith.

"Well?" he asked, not elaborating.

Seemingly unconsciously, Faith straightened, almost to attention.

"As Admiral Chegwidden said, it's all about whether or not I can take the heat. I'll just have to make that decision by the end of the day. If not, I'll still do my best to make sure they get good counsel..." Then, with another surprising smile, she looked at him. "...but your name wouldn't be on the list."

Bud smiled back, knowing that she had caught Harriet's warning, too.

"Let me know, okay?"

She nodded and went into her office. He heard the door lock behind her and he continued on his way, thinking about what this could mean. He rather thought that Faith would end up taking the case. He didn't see how someone like her could resist when it could be so important.

That being said, he didn't blame her for being hesitant. While he might regret not being in the thick of it, just a little bit, he was glad that he could say, very honestly, he wasn't involved. He would watch from the sidelines and cheer them on.

...and maybe give some help if he happened to be asked.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"You're shipping out next month, Commander McGee. Will your team be ready?" Admiral Jackson asked.

"As ready as we can be without knowing all the details," Sam said. "When will we be told exactly what we're doing?"

"On site. No sooner."

Sam hesitated.

"Sir, may I ask a question that might be taken as insolent?"

Admiral Jackson raised an eyebrow.

"Go ahead, Commander, but be careful what you say."

Sam could see Charlie out of the corner of his eye. Charlie would never ask this question. He would not even entertain the possibility. Charlie was all about toeing the line. He may not know exactly what was going to be asked, but he knew it could go very badly and he was tense. Sam didn't show any of his tension.

"Yes, sir." Sam took a breath and then let it out. "Am I being kept in the dark with the intention of forcing compliance on the basis of being rescued at the end of the mission...or not?"

"Are you accusing me of essentially blackmailing you?"

"No, sir. I don't think that you're the one who is making these decisions. I think you're the medium for disseminating the message."

Admiral Jackson didn't comment on that.

" _Would_ you refuse to comply with your orders?"

"If I felt that it was morally wrong, yes, I would, sir," Sam said. He considered elaborating on what kinds of actions he would consider morally wrong, but why do that when it hadn't been asked for? It was always better to say as much as needed and no more.

"You're dismissed."

Sam and Charlie both stood to attention and saluted.

"Yes, sir!"

Then, they turned and left the room. They were both silent until they got a safe distance away.

"Sam, are you out of your _mind_? What were you thinking asking a question like that?" Charlie demanded. "Are you _trying_ to get them to kick you out?"

"No, Charlie, I'm not," Sam said, calmly. "I'd never do that. If I wanted out, I'd get out on my own terms, not on theirs. I asked the question because it needed to be asked, no matter what the fallout was, and there was no insult to Admiral Jackson because he's not the one making the decisions."

"He didn't answer you. How do you know that?"

Sam smiled. "Because I'd be out if I was wrong."

Charlie took a deep breath and shook his head.

"Sam, you're treading on thin ice, I think."

"I don't think so. At this point, we have a matter of weeks before we ship out. We've been working on this for five months. It's time sensitive, I'm almost positive. What will they do at this point? Nothing. They have to deal with me as I am. There's no other option."

Sam looked at his watch and groaned inwardly. Another long day. Another day of probably missing seeing Tim awake at all.

"Bright and early, tomorrow morning, Commander," he said. "No one should be late. Not even one second."

"We won't be," Charlie said.

"Good. I'm going home."

"Good night, then."

Sam nodded and walked away from Charlie. He'd always known that he had more guts than Charlie when it came to authority and position, but he was seeing more and more that Charlie was willing to compromise to a much greater extent just to keep himself secure. Privately, Sam figured that was why he was lead on this mission and Charlie was number two. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if Charlie remained in a number two position for his entire military career, unless he learned to stand firm on more things. There was greater risk, but there was greater reward, too. His superiors knew exactly where Sam stood on things and that meant they knew exactly how much they could rely on him because he was always very clear, but Charlie... He tried to ascertain where his superiors stood on things and then tried to agree without being a brown noser. It had got him to the rank of Commander, but Sam didn't think it would get him much higher than that.

He got in his car and drove home.

When he arrived, Tim was already in bed. Naomi had kept his dinner warm in the oven, but she was already in bed, too. Awake, but in bed. He could see the lamplight filtering under the door to the bedroom. Sam grimaced, but he got the plate out of the oven and sat down to eat. Alone.

When he was about halfway through, he heard a door open. A few seconds later, there were gentle hands on his neck, massaging away the tension of the day.

"How long?" Naomi asked, her voice soft and unaccusing.

He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling for a little while.

"One month."

"And then how long?"

"A month at the longest. Two more months, Naomi."

"Good. Keep eating. I know you're hungry."

Sam finished eating and then turned around in his chair and pulled Naomi onto his lap.

"Is Tim asleep?" he asked.

"Yes."

It had been weeks since he'd felt that Naomi was open to anything besides sleeping together, but she definitely was now. He raised a questioning eyebrow. She smiled and kissed him deeply. He returned the kiss and then picked her up. He navigated down the short hall to their bedroom, hoping he didn't do anything stupid to ruin the mood, like run into the wall.

When he successfully got into the bedroom, he set her gently down on the bed and took off his uniform.

One night when he could just be Sam instead of Commander McGee. There wouldn't be too many more before he was gone.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Gibbs was in his basement, looking at his planks, deciding what to build next.

He heard his door open and that precise tread. When the door to the basement opened, he didn't bother to look up.

"Welcome back, Captain," he said. "Are you on duty?"

"No," Faith said, coming down the stairs.

"Then, the bourbon's on the table there. Feel free to use a jar."

Faith set her briefcase down on the bottom step and then walked over to the table. There was a bit of silence. He guessed that she was wiping whatever she'd chosen as her drinking vessel. Then, he heard her pour some bourbon into a jar.

Gibbs wondered if she would react to it as some of his visitors had. He liked his strong. He guessed that she wouldn't say anything about it, even if she wanted to.

The silence continued and finally, Gibbs decided to turn around. Faith was staring at the jar of bourbon as if it had offended her.

"Not your brand?" he asked.

"I don't typically drink bourbon, actually," Faith said. "I prefer armagnac if I'm going to drink liquor, but if this is what you have, it's what I'll drink."

She sipped it and Gibbs was impressed that she seemed to be just fine with it. Not even Fornell had appreciated it, although he'd had too much in one swallow and Faith was taking it slowly as she should.

"What brings you here besides wanting a free drink?" he asked.

Faith smiled a little. "I'm still mad at you for making me _want_ a drink at all, Gibbs. This is all your fault."

"You made a decision?"

Faith nodded curtly and took another sip.

"I hope you realize how far this could go, Gibbs."

"How far has it gone already?" Gibbs asked. He knew Faith to be someone not easily rattled, and she seemed rattled right now.

"I've been threatened by someone with false credentials. That was just from asking a few questions in a way that I thought was secure. It wasn't secure enough."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. That was a surprise. These people seemed to have eyes everywhere which made it more and more worrisome. They weren't hesitating to go after the people they knew were involved. No violence as yet, but threats were a bad start so early.

"What it's boiled down to is whether or not I can take the heat."

"And?"

"And I can, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about this, Gibbs." Faith took another sip and again stared at the jar as if it had done something wrong.

Then, she set the jar down, perfectly lined up to the edge of the table. Gibbs wondered if it even took conscious effort on her part to do that.

Finally, she turned to face him.

"I'll take this case. I'd prefer to meet with him at NCIS rather than at JAG, if possible. I don't know how closely I'm being watched at the moment, but I'm of the opinion that it's better safe than sorry. Have you noticed anyone watching you?"

"Not yet, but that doesn't mean they haven't been. I've been fooled before."

"I'll leave it to you to call. I will make room in my schedule for a meeting when he's ready for it. I'd also appreciate a summary from his current lawyer, so that I don't duplicate work that's already been done."

"Anything else?"

"Yes." She looked at him severely. "I know you started looking at this because you have a personal connection and that's what you do. Tell me. Do you really think he's innocent?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Faith took another sip of the bourbon and then left the jar where it was. "Then, I'll do it."

She walked to the stairs, picked up her briefcase and began to leave.

"Captain Coleman."

She stopped near the top.

"Yes, Agent Gibbs?"

"Thank you."

She smiled slightly. "I just hope I don't regret doing it."

Then, she left the basement. He heard his front door close and he walked over to her abandoned jar. Perfectly aligned with the edge of the table. One of the things that had fascinated him about Faith Coleman, since the time of their first meeting, was her organization. It went beyond simple organization to something more than that. Was it OCD? Maybe. He didn't tend to try diagnosing people like that. What it did do, however, was give her something of an edge because her organization didn't stifle her intelligence. It sharpened it. Maybe he could have got someone better, but he trusted her to do her best once she agreed. It wasn't that she couldn't make mistakes or that she was perfect. It was just that she did the right thing, even when it made her job more difficult to do. He'd been impressed with the way she navigated between what was expected of her as a lawyer and what she expected of herself as a human being.

Having Faith Coleman on their side would be a help, and they could use all the help they could get.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

His laptop beeped at him.

Low battery.

Tim groaned and looked around and then was surprised to realize that it was completely dark.

So much for keeping aware of his surroundings. He hadn't noticed the Sun going down or the darkness falling. Nothing. He didn't even know if cars had gone by for the last...

He looked at his watch and groaned again. Seven hours. It was now after midnight. His laptop was almost dead, _and_ he'd stayed up much later than he'd planned. He'd have to get to his car in the pitch black in order to get his laptop charged up so that he could use it in the morning.

Well, it wasn't going to get any brighter...unless he waited until the Sun came up again.

Tim sighed and shut down the laptop. Then, he grabbed his flashlight and got to his feet. Carefully, he walked to the door of the shack and opened it.

It was so dark. It felt like he was stepping into nothingness. The only thing that existed was right in front of him, in the narrow, pitiful beam of his flashlight.

"I am never going to go into the woods again," Tim muttered to himself. "Never again."

He navigated his way to the car, got his laptop hooked up to the battery for recharging, took an extremely quick bathroom break, and then went back to the relative security of the cabin. His stomach growled and he ate some more fruit snacks and a granola bar. Then, he got another bottle of water and washed his meal down.

Then, it was time to sleep. If he could. His mind felt really alert at the moment. Still, he wouldn't do himself any good if he tried to ignore the need for sleep. So he got his bed laid out and burrowed down in the blanket. Then, he swallowed and turned off the flashlight.

Complete darkness. Or at least, as complete as it could be in this situation. A cave would probably be darker, but this was _really_ dark.

He still couldn't get his mind to turn off, so he kept thinking, hoping that it would lead to sleep, eventually.

Still, no success on hacking into the Department of Defense. Was it possible that they knew about his attempts and were actively keeping him out? Instantly, Tim rejected that idea. He was quite certain that he would notice someone trying to prevent his hacking. No, he'd just have to admit that the security on the DoD was actually quite good and that he hadn't really done a _lot_ of hacking in the last little while. He'd mostly kept his nose clean and those kinds of skills got a little rusty when they weren't in constant use. Besides that, he had to admit that his equipment wasn't exactly cutting edge, no matter how much he had tried to bump it up. If he had been able to take more time to prepare, he might have got something better.

 _What am I going to try tomorrow, then?_

He just needed to keep at it. No site was completely secure, unless it had a server that was completely cut off from the rest of the network. It was a possibility that he had to acknowledge, but he wasn't going to assume it was the case. It made a lot more sense to think that this was just him needing to have a little more luck and a little more determination.

 _I've hacked a lot of secure places before. I can do this one, now. It matters more, so I can do it. This isn't about my job. This is about Dad._

He wanted to keep working, now. In a way, having to recharge his laptop battery was probably a good thing. It forced him to take a few breaks, even if he hated to do it. It felt wrong when there was so much going on. He should be working all the time to make sure he found what would save his father. Any time spent _not_ working was being wasted. Logically, he knew that he _couldn't_ spend every moment on it, but he felt like he _should_.

He took a deep breath and sighed. In the darkness and silence, it was loud and accentuated the emptiness around him. He felt so alone.

For the first time since Vance had told him about the charges against his father, Tim allowed himself to feel the loneliness. He had to do it alone. He knew that and he accepted it, but at the same time, he hated being alone.

The one thing he couldn't do, though, was admit that to anyone. No contact, no pleas for help, no matter how much he might want it. As he lay there in the darkness, hating his solitude, he knew he had to maintain it, not only for his own security but for everyone else's.

Even while his mind was awash with doubts, hopes, and thoughts, he finally started to feel tired and his eyelids started to droop.

Eventually, he slept.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam was sitting with Charlie, going over some of the training they'd be putting the men through during the last weeks. They had also been discussing equipment and where Charlie might be located when they shipped out.

Suddenly, Charlie looked behind Sam and straightened a little. Sam looked at him in surprise, but then, followed suit.

"Admiral Jackson," Sam said. He got to his feet and saluted.

Admiral Jackson returned the salute.

"What can we do for you, sir?" Sam asked.

"Come with me, Commander McGee," he said abruptly. "Just you."

Sam glanced at Charlie who seemed a little put out by the exclusion. Sam didn't blame him, because it was very likely to be related to the mission and he should be involved. Still, this was Admiral Jackson. He could dictate who he spoke to and they didn't really have any right to protest. Sam turned to Charlie.

"Commander Leadore, check on the equipment. Make sure that it is going to be ready for our departure," Sam said, formally. This was something they had intended to do together, but Charlie was more than qualified to do it on his own.

"Yes, Commander McGee," he said. "Admiral."

Admiral Jackson nodded to him and then gestured for Sam to follow him. Sam did so, wondering what was going on. Perhaps he _had_ read the admiral incorrectly and he _was_ about to be drummed out of the Navy.

However, instead of conducting Sam to his office or anywhere else official, Admiral Jackson walked to the end of one of the empty piers and stood, staring out at the San Diego Bay. He said nothing. Sam stood beside him, wondering if he should break the silence or wait for the admiral to say whatever it was he had to say.

The silence lengthened to a couple of minutes.

"Sir, was there something you needed to discuss with me?" Sam asked, finally.

Admiral Jackson turned to him, his back ramrod straight.

"Commander McGee, I have watched your career since you became an officer."

"You have? Why?" Sam asked, startled into the informal questions.

Admiral Jackson didn't seem to care about that.

"You received top marks across the board in NROTC, and beyond that, your commanding officers at Cornell made note of you as an exceptional officer."

"Oh," Sam said, not sure how to respond to that. He would never have known about these things without Admiral Jackson telling him and he would never have expected Admiral Jackson to tell him about all this.

"You have the potential to go a long way. ...if you don't sabotage yourself."

"Meaning?"

"Asking questions when you already know that I can't give the answers."

"Because you don't _know_ the answers or because you can't give the answers you have," Sam asked, testing the waters a little bit.

"I want to see you reach your full potential, Commander McGee. You could easily make admiral yourself. In fact, if you weren't aware, you're being groomed for that."

"I _wasn't_ aware," Sam said. "It's flattering, but I'm not sure what that has to do with needing to speak to me out here on the edge of the pier."

"I do not know what your mission will be," Admiral Jackson said, abruptly. "You will not learn about it until you get there, and I may not end up being told."

"I'm sensing that there's a _but_ coming," Sam said.

"There is. I think you're right to be wary about what this mission might entail."

"You do?" Sam was shocked, not only that Admiral Jackson was wary, but also that he'd _admit_ to it.

"Yes. You may end up having to make a decision between following orders and doing the right thing."

"And which do you think I should choose, sir?" Sam asked, since the admiral seemed to be in a sharing mood.

"That depends on what you want."

"I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and not be ashamed of who I see," Sam said. He wouldn't normally be so upfront with a superior officer, but at the moment, Admiral Jackson was inviting confidences and, since he had indicated that he cared about Sam's progress, Sam was willing to do that. For now.

"If you choose to disobey orders, you may lose your position in the Navy."

"I don't want to lose the Navy, sir," Sam said. "My family has been Navy for generations, and I grew up knowing that it was what I wanted from my life. I have never anticipated needing to leave for any reason... but if it came down to choosing between the Navy and my conscience, I'd have to choose my conscience."

"Then, you had better be prepared to make that choice," Admiral Jackson said, seriously.

"I am, sir."

"And if it comes down to that, I will do my best to protect you."

Sam was shocked anew. He had not expected anything like this when Admiral Jackson had asked him to come out here. In fact, he had expected a reprimand because of his pushing to know more about what was going on. Instead, what he had got was a promise of support if he chose to disobey orders. It actually made him a little more nervous simply because it seemed to indicate that there was a good chance that he'd have to make that decision.

"Is there a chance of stopping it from happening at all?"

"No. There's a reason that I'm the one passing on the orders. There is no possibility of this not happening. ...unless you stop it at the moment it happens."

That seemed a little different than what he'd been saying before.

"Sir...are you trying to tell me that I should _expect_ to disobey orders and refuse to complete the mission?"

"I'm afraid that it might come down to that, and there are a lot of ethical questions with regard to some of the missions that have been undertaken in Central America. These kinds of things can't stay secret forever and when they come out, it will be bad for the United States to have been involved in them."

"It seems to me that you are giving me conflicting orders."

"Yes, Commander McGee, I am. I'm aware that it is going to make this more difficult for you, but I will feel better knowing that _you_ are in charge on site and can keep this from becoming a terrible mistake."

"That's a little bit more responsibility than I was expecting."

"And it will be thankless, Commander. This is an unofficial order. No one else will ever know about it, and there will be no record of it. If it comes down to the worst I've imagined, I will do my best to keep you from suffering for it, career-wise, but I can't guarantee it, and what the people in charge will see is insubordination."

At least he wasn't pretending it was easy or that everything would be smooth, but still, Sam didn't like being given conflicting orders. He sighed.

"Yes, sir."

"Good luck, Commander, and I hope that I've read the situation wrong."

Without another word (or even giving Sam a chance to respond), Admiral Jackson walked away.

Alone on the pier, Sam looked back at the ocean. Now, not only was his job more important than ever, it was much worse than it had ever been.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was no sharing this with anyone, not even Charlie. Admiral Jackson had taken a big risk in revealing his own reticence to Sam because, at worst, it could be considered treason.

"Woodrow T. Wilson. 'Loyalty means nothing unless it has at its heart the absolute principle of self-sacrifice,'" Sam said to himself.

Then, it was back to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

For the next two days, things continued on as they had been. Tim continued to struggle to get into the Department of Defense, at the same time, trying to ignore his discomfort, and keeping himself as hidden as possible. He fell into a kind of rhythm of work and restless sleep. He would sleep, but never deeply and he never really felt fully rested. He would wake up often during the night until he finally gave up and just got back to work. He felt like he was on the right track, though. It was just a matter of doing it without tipping his hand. He was trying to be patient and take his time. In spite of his intention to keep aware of his surroundings, hours would pass for him in dollops and he would suddenly realize that it had been a long time without any attention paid to the world around him. He just couldn't multitask in that way. Hacking required too much focus.

Sam and Naomi stayed in DC, but not in the hotel. After some searching, Naomi found an accessible short-term rental and she and Sam moved to that. It was more comfortable and it was cheaper. They got in touch with their lawyer and made arrangements to meet with him in order to get all the information needed for their upcoming meeting with Faith Coleman. No further meetings occurred with the man who had confronted Sam outside the hotel and there were no hits on the BOLO for the time being. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than having to worry about him all the time.

Faith continued to prepare herself as much as possible for what could turn out to be very dangerous. As Chegwidden had recommended, she tried to avoid being alone, but even though Bud offered to help, she decided to turn him down, simply because he had a family to worry about and she knew Harriet wasn't on board with the idea. She was looking forward to meeting with the McGees so that she could get a good sense of them herself, rather than relying on Gibbs' perception alone. She trusted Gibbs, but he wasn't perfect.

Gibbs and Tony continued to do their own work while keeping an ear out for anything else that might lead them to Tim or indicate that someone else had found him. Ducky didn't hear anything back from his Metro contact, but he didn't want to be too pushy, so he didn't ask for updates. Tony alternated between being furious and being worried. In either case, he just hoped that they could find Tim before the bad guys did. ...whoever the bad guys were. Gibbs was holding them back from doing anything sketchy which was interesting since Gibbs was usually one of the first to jump into the deep end of sketchiness. However, he seemed to sense how bad this might be for everyone involved and it had made him cautious.

All in all, as strange as it seemed, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, they all fell into a kind of routine, but hoping for something to change.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was early in the evening when there was a knock on the door. Chegwidden walked over and answered it.

"Admiral."

Chegwidden sighed. "How many years has it been since I was an Admiral, Harm?"

Harm smiled. "Old habits die hard."

"Sarah didn't come with you?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Too many responsibilities. I told her that was what she got. I had my time in the hot seat and now it's her turn. She loves it."

"And you?"

Harm's smile became a grin. "I've been crop dusting."

"Again?"

"In between family stuff. Keeps me flying. I've got Jade saying that she wants to be a pilot. Not military, but still a pilot. Must be doing something right. Now, what's going on that you're asking me here to talk about military law? I figured it must be important since you wouldn't even tell me what it was over the phone."

Chegwidden ushered him inside and closed the door. "How much do you hear nowadays?"

Harm didn't pretend to be ignorant of what Chegwidden meant. He sat down and leaned back against the couch.

"More than I want to, sometimes, but not as much as I used to. Sarah's the one with all the connections now, but I still keep my ears open on occasion." He smiled wryly. "There are still a few people who are willing to acknowledge my existence. Why?"

"Want a drink?" Chegwidden asked.

"I don't know. Do I?"

"Probably."

"Then, yes."

Chegwidden got a couple of beers and then, he sat down, ready to talk business.

"Have you heard about a trial involving a retired Navy Commander and some kind of covert ops from thirty years ago?"

"When was the trial?"

"It hasn't happened yet."

"Oh." Harm thought for a few seconds and then, sat up and raised an eyebrow. "Are _you_ involved in that, AJ?"

"No. What do you know about it? And how?"

"I don't know much, only that it's going to be messy. There have been some rumblings, mostly on the government side of things, not in the Navy so much."

"Government?"

"International government," Harm said. "There's a ticking clock and the U.S. only has so much time to fix things before they're accused of interference and possibly sued, maybe even brought before the ICJ."

"Where is the complaint originating?"

"Central America, like too many ops in the eighties."

"More specific?"

"Don't know. All I know is that getting involved in it is going to be dangerous."

"Faith Coleman is taking the case."

"Really? Who got her to do that?"

"Agent Gibbs."

Harm laughed a little at the reminder of his own trial. "Well, the guy could do worse. They got me off, and I was doing my best to make it difficult."

"And I don't think they could get much better. Maybe you."

Harm shook his head ruefully. "Not me. I have to confess, Admiral, that I haven't been in a trial in years. Funny how higher positions can take you away from the courtroom."

"You miss it?"

"Sometimes. Not so much anymore. I have the most important things. So how did you get dragged into this, then?"

"Captain Coleman came to _me_."

"Captain? She's moving up."

Chegwidden smiled. "She doesn't know any other way to be."

"So she came to you? What for?"

"Advice. She's already been threatened, and when she came to me, she hadn't even decided to take the case."

"Wow. That's heavier than I would have expected. It's not like the U.S. hasn't already been slammed for some of the ops they did back then. Makes you wonder what they're trying to cover up. They're not leaving anything to chance, are they."

"Do you have any idea who the players are?"

"No. Sorry. This is maybe a step or two above scuttlebutt. Very few details. I can put out some feelers if you'd like."

"If you can do it safely."

"I've been playing it safe for a long time," Harm said with a dash of his old bravado. "Maybe it's time to stretch a little."

Chegwidden raised an eyebrow and Harm smiled at the silent lecture.

"Don't worry, AJ. I've got kids. I'm _mostly_ matured."

"Mostly."

"Can't change completely. I'm too old for that. Old dogs and new tricks, you know." Then, he got serious again. "How involved are _you_ going to be in this?"

"Not much, probably. I just want to be able to help if Captain Coleman comes to me again."

"You think she will?"

"I'd be surprised, but I was surprised that she came the first time, so who knows."

"You're probably curious, too."

"A little."

"So how does Agent Gibbs know about all this? No offense to him, but it's not exactly scuttlebutt for someone at his level. I'm sure SecNav knows, but he'd hardly be sharing tidbits with an NCIS agent."

"The son of the man who's been accused is on his team."

Harm got a knowing look on his face and nodded. "I get it. It's personal, then."

"Yes."

"Do you know anything about him? The commander?"

"No, but I wouldn't say no to your finding that out and sharing it with me."

"Name?"

"Samuel McGee."

"Thirty years. It must have come out of the blue for him. Do you know anything about his son? How he's taking it?"

"Nothing to speak of. I've seen him once or twice, but that's pretty much it. He wasn't on Gibbs' team when you were on trial."

Harm leaned back and took a drink. He thought for a few seconds. Chegwidden was interested in seeing Harm so settled, so...mature. He'd always had a bit of a reckless streak in him. It was one of the things that had made him a good pilot and a good lawyer. He was willing to take risks if the payoff was worth it. It seemed that married life had finally toned that down, although it clearly wasn't gone completely. Actually, Chegwidden had to admit that he was surprised that Harm seemed to be so content. He figured that the kids they'd adopted were a big part of it. Harm had taken to fatherhood very naturally. It probably also helped that Harm was now in his fifties. Not necessarily over the hill, but certainly nearing the top.

"I hope he's not pulled into it, too. It could happen. These things tend to get out of control."

"Yeah, it could. I'm sure Gibbs has already taken that into account."

"Wouldn't surprise me. Well, I've got a couple of days. I'll see what I can find. Can I crash here?"

"Of course."

"Good. Then, I'll see how discrete I can be and what information is actually available."

While they were both getting older, Harm's smile hadn't changed. He leaned back against the couch, completely comfortable with his surroundings.

"It's good to see you again, AJ. Now that you're officially retired, you should come out and visit us. Sarah would have come if she could have, but you could come out to see us."

"I probably will. So why did you never go for admiral? I heard that you impressed everyone with how you did in London. I figured that would be the next step."

Harm shrugged. "I'm a pilot, AJ. I'm not an admiral. You have to have tact and be kind of politically savvy to get that far. I can hold my tongue for a little while, but I'd have to bite it off to get to that point. You're much better at that kind of thing. So is Sarah, but she's not interested, either. I can fly. I've got kids, a wife. We make a good living. What more could we want?"

"I don't know. Sounds good to me."

Harm got up to grab his bag, but he stopped and turned back.

"What?" Chegwidden asked.

"I was just thinking. Thirty years. This guy's got to be not too much older than I am. Maybe ten years or so. He probably thought he had everything he wanted, too. What kind of people would be willing to take all that away from him, now?"

Chegwidden just shook his head. It did seem rather ruthless.

"You know what? Even if I can't find anything before I have to get back, I'll do what I can, and you keep me up to date since I know you'll be listening for any developments."

Then, Harm grabbed his bag and went back into the spare room.

As he watched Harm walk away, Chegwidden smiled a little. It had become personal for , now, too. While it wouldn't be practical for him to be actively involved, this Sam McGee, whoever he was, now had a lot more people on his side than he might ever realize.

Maybe it would even help.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Next week," Sam said.

Naomi sat down and looked at him with concern.

"Wow... I knew it was coming, but... next week?"

"Yeah."

"Tim's at school," Naomi said.

"Well, I'm not leaving right this instant," Sam said, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

It didn't work. Suddenly, Naomi pulled him close and started to cry.

"Hey. Hey, now. It's going to be okay, Naomi," Sam said, hugging her tightly. "It'll only be about a month and then I'll be back."

"If you survive, and will I even be told if the worst happens?"

"Don't think like that, Naomi," Sam said, firmly.

"I have to, Sam," Naomi said. She pulled back and looked at him with tears in her eyes. "I'm pregnant."

The first thought that came into Sam's shocked mind at Naomi's announcement was that this was _really_ bad timing. One week before he shipped out and she was telling him that she was pregnant again? After all the miscarriages before? After all the stress they'd had in the past? His mind was relentlessly seeing this as a major inconvenience, one more source of anxiety on top of all the others he had to deal with right now. But looking on this as a negative thing would, in his mind, only make it more likely that she'd have another miscarriage and he didn't want that to happen.

"I can't go through this without you. Whether it's successful or not. I need you," Naomi said. "And the thought that you might not make it..."

He pulled back and looked at her sternly. "No, Naomi. You can't think like that. I've made it back every other time. I know that's no guarantee, but we can get through this, and this will be the one that gets us there. I'm coming back. I don't care if I have to hack my way through a jungle, crawl on my hands and knees, whatever. I'm coming back. I promise."

He hugged her again and prayed that he hadn't lied.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Faith walked into NCIS, carrying her briefcase. She was early for her meeting with Sam McGee, but that was by design. She wanted to get everything set up and ready so that she could slip right into the groove of doing her job without thinking about the possible risks involved. Now that she'd made her decision, it was easier. All she had to do was focus on the law. The one thing that hadn't been done was getting read in on his mission. It was still classified Top Secret and it would be difficult to do her best without knowing all the details. However, getting read in would be difficult when the charges hadn't been made official and so she had no way of knowing who to ask about it. The only option would be to go to Major General Cresswell and ask for his help, but she was reluctant to do that just yet. He didn't even know she had agreed to take on this case, although she found it hard to believe that he wasn't aware of its existence.

At the end of the day, Faith wasn't used to being covert. It wasn't that she couldn't be, but she wasn't used to it. She was a lawyer and an officer in the U.S. Navy.

She was conducted to a private room in Legal for her meeting. If anyone there thought it odd that a JAG lawyer was commandeering one of their rooms when JAG Headquarters was also on the Yard, they didn't say anything.

Once she was in the room, she sat down at the table and opened her briefcase. As it always did, the perfection organization helped her calm down. Seeing things placed neatly where they belonged helped her think more clearly and not worry so much about the complications.

By the time she heard movement outside the door, she was as prepared as she could be.

There was a knock.

"Come in," she said, getting to her feet.

Then, she finally got her first look at the man she'd decided to defend.

She was interested in how direct he seemed. He met her gaze and evaluated her, just as she was evaluating him.

"Dr. McGee, I'm Captain Faith Coleman. Agent Gibbs asked me to look at your case."

Sam rolled over to her and shook her hand.

"Captain, I appreciate the risk you're taking in agreeing to represent me," he said. "This is my wife, Naomi."

Faith looked at Naomi and shook her hand as well.

"Ma'am," she said.

She noticed Naomi's glance at the perfectly aligned briefcase and papers, the perfectly sharpened pencils (which she just couldn't help preferring to pens). She smiled.

"I like order, ma'am," she said.

Naomi laughed a little at having been caught staring.

"I can see that."

"Now, to get down to business, I realize, Dr. McGee, that you are not at liberty to share the details of the operation in question. Until charges are officially filed, it will be difficult to get read in on it, although, should a trial occur, I will obviously have to be fully informed. What will be best is for you to give me whatever information you _can_ give and that will make it much easier to prepare once I have all the information I need. Obviously, if you decide that I am not the best choice for your lawyer, there are no hard feelings and I will do my best to find someone else to step in, although I'll be honest that there are likely very few who will be willing and even fewer who will want to."

"Why is that?" Sam asked.

"Because even before I had made the decision to take this on, I was visited and told _not_ to get involved. It's clear that this is something that goes very high and that can be dangerous, not only to one's career. I am going in with my eyes wide open as to the risks, but I also don't want to have you feel that you _have_ to stick with me if you don't wish to. My purpose is to help with the court martial. I doubt this will help my career much because, if all goes well, few will ever know about it, and if it goes badly, then, I'll probably be out of a job."

"I'm sorry to be pulling you into it."

Faith smiled. "You didn't. Agent Gibbs did, and he has a personal reason to be involved. I understand that Agent McGee is your son."

"Do you know him?" Naomi asked.

"Only slightly. Actually, I'm surprised he's not here with you."

Sam and Naomi exchanged looks. They were extremely significant looks.

"What is it?" Faith asked.

"Well, actually, we don't know _where_ Tim is," Sam said. "He left a few days ago, went off the grid. No one knows where he is."

"Why?"

"Because he wants to save his father," Naomi said. "We don't know _exactly_ what he's planning to do, but he'll probably be willing to go a lot farther than NCIS will let him."

"In fact, he already quit," Sam added.

Faith was shocked, not only that Tim had done that (it seemed very out of character from what little she knew of him) but also that Gibbs had never mentioned it. After the initial shock, she was irritated, heading towards furious. Gibbs was asking her to put everything on the line for this and he was keeping important information from her.

She could see, however, that the McGees were unaware of this being a problem. It was likely not their fault, but Gibbs could have told her, and he _should_ have. She made a mental note to confront him about it as soon as possible.

"Understood. I'll simply have to take that in stride as we go along. Keeping in mind the fact that I will not be able to know everything just yet, what can you tell me about the mission?"

As Sam started to talk, Faith took notes, not only of what he said, but how he said it and the obvious gaps in the information.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The sound that broke through his focus on the computer screen was _not_ a car, this time. Tim looked around and noticed how dim it seemed, even though it was still afternoon and the Sun was far from setting in the sky. A bit confuddled and confused, he got up and walked to the back window.

What he saw did _not_ make him feel any better.

Clouds. Not just any clouds. Dark, foreboding clouds that had the potential to bring down rain in this forest. Would the roof keep out the rain? Quite frankly, Tim didn't know. Rain was not something he had factored into his plans, although the possibility of rain should have occurred to him.

If it did rain, and the roof did leak, the important thing was to keep his equipment from getting wet. He needed to be able to use the laptop for as long as all his work took him and the last thing he needed was to have the electronics short out because of water.

He made a mental decision to put his laptop in the trunk, wrapped up in plastic if it came down to needing to protect it from the rain.

He hoped that he wouldn't, and he settled back down to work. However, he didn't get much time on it because there was a flash of light, followed by a crash of thunder. The storm was coming whether he wanted it to or not.

Instead of having to worry about getting to his car in the rain and worrying, Tim just decided to pack it in right then. He hated to do it because he really thought he was almost into the Department of Defense, but a little delay would be better than a permanent one. So he shut down the laptop and carried it out to the car. As he walked, the first raindrops began to fall. That spurred him to move more quickly. He opened the trunk, hooked his laptop up to the battery, draped some plastic over it, made sure it wasn't sitting directly on the floor of the trunk in case there was a leak, and then closed the trunk and hoped that the lightning wouldn't strike it. The stuff inside should be safe even if that happened, but still, he didn't want the worry.

Then, all he had left to do was worry about himself. He hurried back into the shack as the rain started to fall in earnest.

...and he discovered that the roof was less a roof than it was a sieve. Even while the rain wasn't falling heavily, there was water coming in.

Tim groaned to himself. This was pretty awful. How much worse would it get?

He began to gather up his food supply to make sure it didn't get waterlogged during the storm. He did have a poncho, at least, but it wasn't much better than that.

It took a couple of minutes, but he got all his food stowed away. He was getting wet, so he pulled the poncho over his head and continued to try and waterproof his possessions. He packed the blankets into the car because he didn't want to have to deal with wet blankets. When he finished, it was no longer just rain. It was a downpour, and it all seemed to be coming into the shack. He looked around for a place to shelter, maybe one part of the roof that might be holding _some_ water out.

There was another flash of lightning, with a rumble of thunder almost right after. The wind started blowing and he could hear the trees creaking out in the storm.

This was terrible. He could feel the temperature plummeting as the storm moved in. Even with the poncho, he was getting wet.

"Serves me right," he said as he looked around. "I didn't even bother checking the weather."

The wind started to pick up and he got a little more worried as the noise from the trees got louder and louder.

Then, he thought he heard a crack. A really loud crack that had nothing to do with the lightning.

...and everything to do with a branch being blown off a tree.

Suddenly, the roof was falling in.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Naomi, we're going to be late!" Sam called.

He knew she wasn't looking forward to this and he had almost cancelled, but it was being done for him, for Charlie, too, and they really should be there.

"Come on, Mommy! There's going to be water balloons!" Tim called.

He was simply excited. He hadn't made the connection between Sam being gone and this party. Besides, with Sam away so often in the last couple of months, Tim didn't seem to worry about whether he was there or not. Sam tried to convince himself that this was a good thing, that it was better that Tim not think about it than it would be if he worried.

At the same time, though, it was hard to realize that his own son had lost enough of that connection to not miss his dad.

The door opened and, to Sam's relief, Naomi looked fine. She had been struggling this week, what with Sam finding out about her pregnancy and the knowledge that he was going to be leaving. Still, right now, she just seemed happy about the party. They had chosen to keep the pregnancy a secret for now since they had lost so many already. Tim didn't even know yet. Naomi couldn't tolerate the congratulations _or_ the concern.

"Are you ready?" Sam asked, smiling, but trying to ask it sincerely.

Naomi nodded, even as Tim ran over and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the front door.

"Billy told me that they had water balloons! Come on!"

"We'll be there on time, Tim," Naomi said. "Calm down."

Still, Tim didn't let his excitement ebb one little bit as they left the house and headed for the party.

When they arrived, Sam and Naomi were inundated with people coming over to say hi, to welcome them, then wish Sam luck, all with the semi-forced jollity of people who knew that this was serious business but were trying not to think about it too much.

At least, the adults were that way. Tim ran off with the other kids and the water balloons would have started instantly except that Billy's mom, Katie, made him wait until after they'd eaten. A kids table had been set up and an adults table. Everyone got their meals and, with a weather eye on the kids, making sure that nothing went seriously awry, the conversation got a little serious. Not fully, but the questions started.

"When are you shipping out, Sam?"

"Tomorrow."

"Do you have any idea how long you'll be gone?"

"Probably about a month," Sam said, with the confident tone that didn't allow for any kind of questions about whether or not he'd make it back at all.

"How's Tim taking it?"

"Oh, it isn't really real for Tim yet," Naomi said. "He knows that Sam is leaving, but I don't know that he's realized that it's for a long time rather than just a regular work day."

Sam didn't bother saying that his regular work days had led to times when he didn't see Tim awake for days at a time. Naomi didn't bring it up, either. They just acknowledged the nods of people who had similar experiences.

The meal was simple and, about halfway through, Charlie arrived with his usual declaration.

"The life of the party is here!"

Sam rolled his eyes a little.

"Well, the life of the party almost _missed_ the party, Charlie," he said. "Come and eat before all the food is gone."

Charlie just laughed and filled his plate with food. Sam made room for him to sit. Charlie showed no sign of discomfort. He loved being the center of attention, and this party was for the both of them.

Once the food was mostly consumed, Katie gave permission for the kids to start playing with the water balloons. However, she gave a stern warning that, if any balloon hit an adult, that would not only be the end of the water balloons, but it would be the end of a _lot_ of things.

With the delighted screams of kids playing in the water going on in the background, Sam helped clean up the leftovers while chatting with some of the others there, including Charlie.

"So, guys, are you really ready to go?"

Charlie nodded. "Ready and rarin', Todd."

"You haven't talked about it at all, Sam. Is it that big?"

Sam just shrugged nonchalantly. He knew that Charlie wanted to play up how dangerous it was and how exciting it could be, but he just wanted to get in, get out, and get on with his life. He had never realized just how much he stood to lose until this mission.

"They're all big in special ops. You know the drill. All classified."

"Yeah, I know," Todd said. "Katie and I will keep an eye on Naomi and Tim while you're gone."

Sam nodded. "Thanks. I really appreciate that."

"And what will we do without all your bombastic entrances, Charlie?" Todd asked, grinning to dispel the more serious tone.

Sam chuckled. "You'll have a little less noise at your cookouts."

"Oh, come on, now," Charlie protested. "I am _far_ from the loudest guy here."

Right at that moment, Tim got hit with a water balloon, right in the small of his back, and shrieked. They all looked at each other and laughed.

"I believe that was _your_ son, Sam?" Charlie said.

"Well, you're the loudest guy over the age of ten."

Charlie chuckled. "Guilty as charged. Gotta live it up while you can. There's that one poem you recited once. I remember it was about seizing life or something."

"Which one?" Sam asked.

"Something about rosebuds? I don't know. You're the guy with all the words in your head that you can't stop sharing."

"'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,  
Old time is still a-flying:  
And this same flower that smiles to-day  
To-morrow will be dying.'"

"Yeah, that one! Gotta have fun while you can."

"Do you know what that poem is called?"

"Nope."

"It's by Robert Herrick. 'To the Virgins, to make much of time.'"

"Virgins?"

"Yep. The last stanza is appropriate for you, I think, Charlie."

"Hey! I'm no virgin!"

Sam grinned and recited the end.

"'Then be not coy, but use your time,  
And while ye may, go marry:  
For having lost but once your prime,  
You may for ever tarry.'"

Todd burst out laughing, while Charlie, for once, looked just a bit embarrassed. Sam didn't rub it in, but the laughter did attract the attention of others who joined them and the conversation moved on to football and whether the Navy would beat the Army in the Army-Navy game that year.

Then, while they were comparing teams, Charlie suddenly nudged Sam.

"Sam...Naomi's crying," he said in a low voice.

Sam turned around and his smile faded. He handed his glass to Charlie and walked over to where Katie was sitting with her arm around Naomi's shoulders. He vaguely noticed that Cynthia had her camera out, but he didn't care about pictures. This was more important.

"Katie?" he asked.

"The door's open, Sam," she said and gestured for them to go inside.

Sam walked Naomi into the house and sat down beside her on the couch.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Naomi said, softly. "It just all hit me. All at once."

"It's all right."

"I can't keep doing this, Sam. It's too much."

"I know," Sam said. He hesitated. He wasn't sure if he wanted to give her false hope because, for all he knew, he would change his mind once the mission was over, would find a reason to keep doing it, but if his feelings stayed the same, he'd be more than happy to agree with her.

Naomi hugged him tightly, and he thought about the baby they now knew she was carrying. Did he have the _right_ to risk his life like this when he knew how much he had waiting for him at home, how hard it was for Naomi to watch him leave time after time? He didn't _have_ to do these missions that were so much more dangerous than the other duties he'd had in the Navy.

"I can't keep doing it, either," he said, finally.

Naomi pulled back from him.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Sam nodded.

"I don't want you giving up on all your dreams because I'm overly emotional right now," she said, sounding more like herself.

"I've been thinking about this for weeks, Naomi," he said. "With all the work I've been doing, all the preparations...I'm afraid that I'm going to turn into my father. A good man but so distant that I might as well not _be_ a father. I don't want that for Tim...and I don't want it for myself. There has to be something else I can do that will allow me to spend more time with you and Tim."

"If you mean it..."

"I do."

"Then, we'll figure it out... _when_ you get back."

"Yeah. _When_."

He kissed her gently on the cheek and then they got up and rejoined the party. If the others had noticed Naomi's breakdown, they understood the reason, even if they didn't know all of it. The party went on.

Tim hadn't even noticed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Gibbs looked up as Faith walked out of Legal with the McGees. There was something about her stance that told him she was not happy, but her interactions with the McGees were completely respectful, so it wasn't about them. She walked with them to the elevator, but she did not get on with them. Instead, as soon as the doors closed, she turned around and walked back to Gibbs.

"I need to speak with you, Agent Gibbs," she said, her voice sounding rather irritated. "Right now. In private."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Then, she turned around.

"You may as well come, too, Agent DiNozzo," she bit out.

"O-kay," Tony said and got to his feet.

They walked together to the elevator and waited for it to arrive after the McGees had left. However, once they were on, it was Faith who stopped it, not Gibbs. She didn't even give him a chance to ask any questions. She rounded on him, setting her briefcase down with a practiced and emphatic click. Gibbs couldn't help noticing that it was perfectly aligned with the walls of the elevator.

"You asked me to put everything on the line, Agent Gibbs," she said, angrily. "Everything. This is not just me putting my career on the line. This could be my life as well if the threats continue. How dare you keep me in the dark about vital parts of this case!"

"What are you talking about, Captain?" Tony asked, clearly surprised by her fury.

She looked at both of them, but it was clear that her anger was mostly directed at Gibbs.

"When were you going to tell me that Agent McGee has gone rogue in an attempt to get his father off the hook for these charges? When were you going to tell me that, in addition to having people upset about a JAG lawyer being actively involved in Dr. McGee's defense, there was a man who is going to step on who knows _how_ many toes and break who knows _how_ many laws because he's decided to go off the grid? This is something I should have known from day _one_! It is no longer day one. It is now more like day seven, and I will _not_ accept being blindsided by information like this if you expect me to continue doing this job."

Gibbs suppressed a grimace. He should have thought about the McGees mentioning what was happening with Tim, even in the most general way. Normally, he would have expected them to be more cautious, but he had to admit that Faith had been chosen at his instigation and so they probably had felt safe admitting to Tim's absence.

"We're trying to find him," Gibbs said.

"That's not good enough, Agent Gibbs," Faith said. "I don't care what you're _trying_ to do. I care that you deliberately kept me in the dark while asking me to go well beyond what most lawyers would even consider. You either trust me all the way and I'll do this or don't trust me at all and I walk. I will _not_ accept this halfway crap."

There was a moment of silence, and then, to Gibbs' surprise, Tony stepped in.

"Maybe you're right and we should have told you from the beginning," Tony said, "but we've been trying to keep this as quiet as possible...for McGee's sake. We don't want him to suffer for what's happening with his dad. If we had known what he was going to do, we would have stopped him, but we didn't know until after he'd already gone."

Faith took a deep breath and Gibbs judged that her anger was tempered just a little.

"What do you want to know?"

"How much has he done already?"

"We don't know, but we do know that he's already been searching through NCIS files," Gibbs said.

"And, officially, he's still employed here," Tony added.

"His parents said that he quit."

"He did," Gibbs said, "but Vance is treating it as a mistake."

"So, legally, he's done nothing wrong beyond miss a few days of work without getting leave."

Tony shrugged. "Well, that might be going a little far. He probably won't be stopping at using NCIS resources."

"Understood. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Probably, but we don't know it, either," Tony said.

"Are you sure of that?"

"As sure as we can be," Gibbs said.

"Fine. I'll accept that, but I'm warning you, Gibbs. If I find that you're keeping information from me again, I'm out."

Then, she turned around and flipped the switch on the elevator. When the doors opened, she stepped off and then turned back.

"Check your house for bugs. Both of you. I'll do the same in my office."

Then, she turned once more and walked away.

"I think she means it, Boss," Tony said.

"Yeah, she does."

"You didn't tell her about Ducky."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because you never know who might be listening. Even here."

Tony looked out of the building, following Faith's progress.

"Looks like we'll get some rain here, soon," he said. "Those are some pretty dark clouds."

Gibbs only grunted, so they went back up to the bullpen and got back to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim dove to the floor and covered his head as the roof began to cave in right where he was standing. The creak brought one large beam down, along with a large amount of smaller debris. The beam landed _right_ next to his head, but it didn't hit him. Tim lay where he was for a few minutes, feeling his clothes getting soaked from the rain now absolutely _pouring_ into the shack.

As he lay there, he just prayed that nothing else would fall, that he'd find that he was just fine. He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds and then, when nothing else happened, opened them and took a deep breath when he saw how close the beam was to his head. He'd been spared by a matter of inches.

"Wow," he said, swallowing hard.

Carefully, he inched his way out from underneath the beam and tried to avoid the rest of the debris that had fallen down with it.

Overall, he had been very fortunate _not_ to have been injured or even killed by that collapse.

Sitting on the floor, he started shaking from the adrenaline rush. He breathed heavily and tried to calm down. After a few minutes, he started searching for his flashlight. It was really getting dark and he didn't want to be without it. His hands were still shaking as he reached out to retrieve it from the floor.

Looking around the shack, he decided that he'd feel a lot better if he retreated to the car. Sure, a tree could fall on the car, too, but he felt like the old, heavy steel body of the car would be more resistant to crumpling than the already-collapsed roof of the shack.

Decision made, he got to his feet and made his way out of the shack. Once he got to the car, he climbed into the back seat, pulled off the poncho, wrapped up in his damp blanket and lay down on the seat.

He was still shaking a little bit. Every crash of thunder and every creak in the trees made him jump. In the end, he covered his head with the blanket and prayed for the best.

For the moment, he wasn't thinking about being alone. He wasn't thinking about hacking. He wasn't even thinking about his father. He was just hoping that he didn't have a tree fall on his head.

Eventually, his heart calmed as the storm eased off to just a heavy rain and he fell asleep.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The time had finally come, and he had never wanted to leave on a mission less than he did right now. He also knew that he wasn't exaggerating. He really _didn't_ want to go on this mission. It was going to be dangerous. It was likely to be something illegal and he had been told to be willing to disobey his orders and call off the mission if it was something bad.

 _If there was any way to stop this, I would,_ he thought.

His alarm would be going off in about twenty minutes, but he wished he could stop time right here, right now, so that he never left.

This would be his last time seeing Naomi and Tim until the mission was over. He was supposed to be on base before Tim would be awake, but he couldn't just leave and be gone. He had to say good-bye.

With that thought in mind, Sam carefully eased himself out of bed, hoping he didn't wake Naomi. He flicked off his alarm and walked to Tim's bedroom. He opened the door and smiled.

Tim was curled up in a tight little ball, holding his sailor teddy bear. How much longer would he want to sleep with a stuffed animal? Sam didn't know, but he didn't care at all. Right now, he just loved to see it.

He walked over to the bed and knelt beside it. Then, he nudged Tim very gently, hoping to wake him without startling him.

"Tim?" he said softly.

Tim yawned and twitched a little, but then, he was still. Sam smiled again.

"Tim?"

Tim twitched again and then, his eyes opened.

"What is it..." he yawned. "...Daddy?"

"I'm going to be leaving soon. I wanted to tell you that I love you more than anything and I'll be back in about a month."

Tim's eyes were a little droopy, but he did seem to be awake.

"A month? That's forever."

"No. It's not forever. It's a long time, but I'll be back. Don't forget me, okay?"

To Tim's credit, he didn't make lots of noise or demands or anything. He just looked at his dad with a very serious expression on his seven-year-old face.

"Don't forget me, too, Daddy," he said.

"I won't. Never."

Then, Sam hugged Tim tightly, kissed his forehead and tucked him back into bed.

"Good-bye, Tim."

"Bye, Daddy. Take the right road."

Sam grinned at the reference.

"I will."

Then, he eased himself out of the room and closed the door.

He walked to the bathroom and started to get ready to go. He heard the bedroom door open and he looked over as Naomi walked to the bathroom door. He smiled at her.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes. Are you?"

She shook her head. "I'll never be ready to watch you go, but I'll still do it."

"I'll be back in a month at most."

Naomi managed to smile. "Don't be late."

"Never."

She hugged him tightly and then went back into the bedroom. He didn't expect her to watch him leave. It was hard enough as it was. Sam finished getting ready and then left the house, hoping against all hope that he really _would_ be back.

As he started toward the car, he heard a tapping on the window. He looked back and smiled.

Tim was there in the window, waving at him.

Sam waved back and then walked away. He joined his team just as the Sun was rising above the horizon.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Tim woke up very suddenly, but when he still heard the rain beating down on the car roof, he sighed and didn't bother even sitting up. There was no point in leaving the car while it was raining, and his laptop probably wouldn't be charged anyway. So, he might as well stay where he was and maybe get some more sleep. It wasn't like he'd been lazing around for the last week.

Still, now that he was awake, he thought about what he was doing. _Really_ thought about it. He thought about his intentions, his purpose and what he thought the fallout would be.

 _I'm already hacking the federal government. That could be up to twenty years in prison. Is there any way I could_ not _serve time?_

Maybe. Maybe not. Tim wasn't sure about that, but he also knew that his focus couldn't be on getting _himself_ out of a bad situation. It had to be about his dad.

If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he had some vague hope that his friends would think of something. He smiled grimly because, while he knew he couldn't get their help with this, after it was all over, he might be able to get some help from his friends...if they hadn't become so fed up with him that they left him to rot.

 _I wouldn't blame them,_ he thought. He knew they wouldn't accept what he was doing. He knew they'd want to find him, but he really hoped that he'd been successful in making it so that they couldn't.

In reality, while he was doing this to save his father, he knew that there was a degree of selfishness to his decision, too. He couldn't bear it if he had to lose his dad, had to watch him go off to prison, knowing that he'd likely die there. After everything that had happened, the thought of it made him want to scream. It was unacceptable, and Tim was not ready to deal with it. And that was another reason he couldn't ask for help. He was doing this as much for himself as for his dad. He couldn't ask that the others give up their careers just for something _he_ wanted.

"That's what I think and I'm sticking to it," he said softly and smiled.

Another creak made him tense up.

 _But I wish I could have company while still doing this all on my own._

He took a deep breath and tried to go back to sleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky was just walking out of Autopsy when his phone started to ring. He checked who it was from and then stopped in his tracks. Quickly, he turned around and hurried back into Autopsy and into his office, ignoring Jimmy's surprised expression. Then, he sat down and answered the phone.

"Dr. Mallard speaking."

" _Hey, Don."_

"Troy. Good to hear from you."

" _You can ask, Don. Don't pretend to be all cordial and everything. You know why I'm calling."_

Ducky could hear the smile and he grinned in response.

"You found his car?"

" _I think so. Near Norfolk. It's parked in the driveway of some guy's house."_

"Do you know anything more?"

" _License plate matches, and I was told that it looks like it's been sitting out for a while. Fancy car, you don't usually expect that. Guy who owns the place is on vacation, according to the neighbors. One said he saw some guy park the car there and then walk away. He wasn't sure about it, but until they asked, he didn't think too much about it. Just seemed like it was one of the owner's old friends or something."_

"Yes, I understand. Thank you very much."

" _You're welcome, but you owe me, Don."_

"Absolutely."

" _I also can't guarantee that this stayed completely off-the-record. If we had just been looking in the Metro area, it could have worked, but we had to go quite a ways out, you know."_

"I know. Some things just can't be ideal...like this entire situation."

" _Good luck."_

Ducky got the address and then hung up. He added a quick note so that he didn't have to say anything at all. He could just pass it off and go on.

"What is it?"

"A possible break, Mr. Palmer. No more, but no less, either."

"Can you talk about it?" Jimmy asked, seriously.

"Perhaps not here. I was just about to go and pass this information off to Jethro, but I'm not sure how much surveillance we should be expecting. So, while it may seem overly cautious, I will show you what I am about to show Jethro."

He held out the piece of paper with the address on it and that note that it was where Tim's car had been found. Jimmy's eyes widened.

"You think that it'll be that easy?" Jimmy asked.

"Unfortunately, no, I don't. I think this is just the first step, and I'm not even sure what the second step will be."

"At least it's a step," Jimmy said.

"I agree," Ducky said. He took a deep breath. "It's infinitely better than nothing. Now, I'm going to head home and you keep in mind how serious this is."

"I know how to not talk about things I'm not supposed to talk about," Jimmy said. "I just talk about other things instead."

Ducky smiled. "You're learning, then, Dr. Palmer."

Jimmy grinned and went back to his work. Ducky left Autopsy and hurried to the bullpen. As he expected Gibbs was there, sitting at his desk. He walked over and set the paper on top of the papers Gibbs was reading.

Gibbs picked it up and looked at it. Then, he looked up at Ducky.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes. He can't guarantee it being completely secure, though."

"Right."

He looked up at Tony who was now watching them.

"First thing, tomorrow, DiNozzo."

"Your place?"

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"All right."

Then, he looked back at his computer and didn't say anything else. They were all feeling the possibility of surveillance.

Ducky was bursting to ask questions, but he didn't. Instead, he left, hoping that Gibbs would see fit to fill him in on what came out of this.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Sam?" Naomi called.

There was no response. She walked out of the small kitchen and into the living room. The rain had started to come down outside. She was glad that they'd got this place that seemed more like a home than the hotel room. It was small, but there was a lot more living space.

Sam was sitting in his chair, as usual, looking at the wheels, rubbing his hands back and forth over them. His expression was one of deep regret.

"Sam?" she said again.

He didn't look up, but he acknowledged her that time.

"Marcus Aurelius said that 'loss is nothing else but change, and change is Nature's delight.' Right now...if change is Nature's delight, then Nature is sick," Sam said, almost in a whisper. It couldn't quite cover the quaver in his voice.

Naomi walked over and sat in front of him on a chair.

"Sam."

"I can't do anything, Naomi," Sam said. "I feel completely...helpless, powerless. I feel like I cannot do one, single, valuable thing to help myself, to help my son. I am stuck in this stupid chair, at the mercy of powers beyond my control and... Twenty years ago..."

They didn't talk about that very much. Sam didn't reminisce very much, particularly not about those times twenty and thirty years ago. Sometimes, that dark period was all too close. Naomi grabbed Sam's hands and pulled them off the wheels, feeling the callouses that revealed how much his life had changed from when they were first married.

"Sam, don't go there. Please, don't go there," she said. "You are not powerless. You are doing what is possible. It doesn't seem like much right now, but it's important. You're fighting back. No, you're not fighting physically, but you're fighting. You've got people to help you look for Tim. Please, don't go back to twenty years ago."

Sam forced a laugh.

"I want to be the knight in shining armor that goes off to save the day, but, unfortunately...I can't ride a horse."

"I don't care," Naomi said. "I don't like horses, anyway."

Sam laughed again, and it was a little more genuine.

"Neither do I. Highly overrated."

He finally looked at her, and she could see the sheen of tears in his eyes that he didn't want to shed.

"If I could walk, I would search and search until I found Tim and when I found him, I'd stop him from throwing his life away for mine. If I could walk..."

"It doesn't matter," Naomi said. "Even if you could, Tim would _not_ listen to you. He wouldn't care that you didn't want him to do it. Tim made his decision and while neither of us want that for him, we both know that Tim doesn't change his mind when he's decided what's right."

"I know," Sam said, after a few seconds. He let out a loud exhale. "I was thinking about the day I left on that last mission. Seeing Tim waving good-bye from the window as I walked off to save the world. Sometimes, Naomi, even after all this time... all I want is to walk again."

"I know. I _know_ , Sam, and I know I can't really understand that feeling, but just don't let it pull you down, again. Please. If nothing else, don't put me through that again."

Sam squeezed her hands.

"I would never do that to you again. I promised you before, and that still holds true now."

"Good. Are you ready to eat, then?"

"I guess so."

Sam sat up in his chair and Naomi watched as he squared his shoulders, determinedly pulling himself away from the frustration and near-despair that he still struggled with on occasion. This wasn't the first time, and although no one else knew it, the time after his paralysis wasn't the first time, either.

The first time had been thirty years ago.

It had been the first time she'd ever seen Sam cry.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam stood in the jungle, waiting for his team to land and join up. Charlie was already checking the perimeter to be sure that no one had observed their landing, and as soon as they had a secure base camp, he could tell his men what they were doing. He'd finally been informed on the plane, and while he was still ambivalent, if everything was truly the way he'd been told, then, he could handle it.

"It's clear," Charlie said softly.

Sam nodded and waited.

Within two minutes, his team had reassembled on the ground. They had moved through the jungle as silently as it was possible to move. There was very little noise beyond the regular jungle sounds.

"Good," Sam said when they were all there. "We have a two-mile march to the space designated for our base camp. We will then secure the area. After that, I will inform you of our mission here."

There was no verbal acknowledgment, but it was unnecessary. They had worked together for long enough that Sam knew that they would follow his words to the letter. He set off into the jungle, confident that he had his bearings right and that they would get to the spot he'd marked from the plane before they'd jumped.

It was dark in the jungle, and he brought them to a halt on occasion to have Charlie check the bearings on the compass. They had to correct their course a couple of times, but there was no other need to stop. No one was tired or even winded by the trek. This was what they had trained for. The only difference between this place and San Diego was that it was a little cooler.

...and it was the real thing, not training.

They got to the spot and, again, checked a wide perimeter. There was no one nearby. Some animals, but otherwise, they were completely isolated. Exactly what they needed.

They didn't rush, but they were quick and efficient. After they had secured the area, they gathered around Sam and Charlie.

"All right. The government has been trying to suppress communist groups in Central America. The Sandanistas in Nicaragua have been funding communist rebellion in El Salvador and appear to be moving closer to direct conflict. Our mission is to do recon of a possible Sandanista base about twenty miles from here. We are to assess the situation and destroy the base to send a message to them that we will not tolerate their interference in El Salvador. We have two full weeks to do recon. We miss nothing. Commander Leadore is our home base. Dillan and Archer will stay on site while the rest of us set up a secondary camp closer to our target. We will maintain contact to give reports via Commander Leadore and to get orders from our superiors. Otherwise, there is no outside contact until we complete our mission. Any questions."

Silence.

"Good. You have two minutes to prepare to move out."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

It was dark when Tim woke up. He sat up, forgetting where he was for a moment and then realized that the rain had stopped. The wind had stopped. ...and nothing had crushed the car. He was okay.

Briefly, he wondered where that feral cat had sheltered during the night. With all that rain, it would have wanted a safe, dry space, just like he did. Surely, it would have places like that if it was living out here.

As he sat there, he found that he had absolutely zero desire to leave the car until it was light. He berated himself for being wimpy, but at the same time, he just couldn't do it. He had to wait until he could see how much damage there had been to the shack, until he could see if he was going to be able to remain in this spot or if he'd have to move on to another one.

How much more damage had been done during the night? It was about four a.m. and he had a couple of hours until sunrise. He was kind of hungry though. Some of his food was on the front seat, so he leaned forward and grabbed a few granola bars and ate them. There was some water, too, and that was good because he was definitely thirsty. After eating and drinking, he lay back down to keep himself hidden. As he stared up at the roof of the car, he tried not to think about anything. For right now, while he couldn't actually bring himself to do anything worthwhile, he didn't want to be dwelling on the things he couldn't do. Instead, he lay there, letting his mind wander.

To his surprise, after a few minutes, it settled on something. A poem. It wasn't long, which was, he had to admit to himself, why he had chosen to memorize it. There had been times, as a teenager, when his father's devotion to memorizing quotes and inflicting them on his family had been a bit too much, especially those times when he had pushed Tim to memorize every word ever written, or so it had seemed to him at the time.

Tim smiled as he thought of those days. Before the car accident, those years when things had been normal and wonderful. No moving around, no military, no injury, and his dad was finished with school and working. All those things that had combined to make, what seemed to him now, an idyllic life. Idyllic was probably just not meant to be his lot in life. He had gone from military to wonderful to paralysis.

Which brought him back to the poem he had remembered. It was by Henry van Dyke. Very softly, he recited it aloud, remembering how Sam had told him that these weren't meant to be read silently but to be shared aloud with others.

"'Let me but live my life from year to year,  
With forward face and unreluctant soul;  
Not hurrying to, nor turning from the goal;  
Not mourning for the things that disappear  
In the dim past, nor holding back in fear  
From what the future veils; but with a whole  
And happy heart, that pays its toll  
To Youth and Age, and travels on with cheer.

So let the way wind up the hill or down,  
O'er rough or smooth, the journey will be joy:  
Still seeking what I sought when but a boy,  
New friendship, high adventure, and a crown,  
My heart will keep the courage of the quest,  
And hope the road's last turn will be the best.'"

Life. It definitely hadn't turned out the way he had originally planned it, but then, things rarely turned out as planned.

He lay there, letting other poems flit through his mind, as he waited for the Sun to rise.

Hopefully, by then, he'd have his nerve back.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs was waiting for Tony to get to his place. He wasn't telling Vance about their trip to Norfolk because Vance needed to have as much deniability as possible. He couldn't tell anyone anything if he didn't have anything to tell.

The door opened, and he looked up...and was surprised to see someone other than Tony.

"Good morning, Jethro. I was hoping to catch you before you left."

Gibbs raised his eyebrow. "Ducky?"

"Is it safe to talk here?"

"As safe as it can be. I checked. No obvious bugs so far."

"Could you give me any update on what you're doing?"

"Captain Coleman is taking the case and she found out about McGee."

Ducky came down the stairs.

"I imagine she wasn't happy?"

"No. She threatened to walk away if I kept her out of anything else."

"I don't blame her. I understand your reasons for not telling her, but she probably should have known from the beginning."

"Yeah, probably."

"Did she accept what you told her?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I'm glad because there's a definite benefit to having a JAG lawyer ready and waiting."

Gibbs nodded.

"She doesn't know about what you found."

"That's risky, given her ultimatum."

"If we find him, we'll tell her. "

"All right. Is there anything else right now?"

"Not yet." Gibbs hesitated, but then, he decided to see what Ducky thought. "I'm thinking of having Abby hack some satellites."

Ducky's eyes widened.

"For what reason?"

"To track him down. The longer it takes us, the more likely that they'll find him, first. His parents think it's possible that the people involved will try to kill him."

"Oh, dear."

"If we can get to him, we can keep that from happening."

"Be honest. Are you surprised that Timothy has managed to hide from you?"

Gibbs grimaced. It wasn't just surprise. It was closer to shock. Tim was always so straightforward, but he had shown a completely different side with this situation. He was willing to go a _lot_ farther than Gibbs would have thought he _could_ , let alone than he would be willing to go.

"Yeah."

Ducky smiled.

The door opened again, and this time, it was Tony.

"Hey, Duck. You coming with us?" Tony asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. Some of us still have to work."

"We're working!" Tony said. "Just...on something else."

Ducky chuckled. "Have no fear, Anthony. I am not criticizing."

"Yeah, I know. I'm ready to go, Boss," Tony said.

"I'll get out of your way," Ducky said. "I hope you can find some way to let me know what comes of this."

"Will do," Tony said.

Ducky left the house and Tony looked at Gibbs.

"So...how much are you planning on this trip, Boss?"

"Depends on what we find."

"Right. If his car is so close... I mean, I know it makes sense that he wouldn't want to be too far removed, but still..."

"Let's go," Gibbs said.

Tony nodded and they headed out. The drive toward Norfolk was as long as it usually was. Gibbs didn't make much conversation, and Tony didn't seem disposed to talk, either. Gibbs was thinking about how successful Tim had been in hiding up to this point. He'd dumped his car, but he obviously had to get a different one if he was going to go anywhere. However, there had been no evidence of any new title or anything. So he'd bought a car kind of under the table where neither party made it official. Technically, that meant that Tim was driving illegally without any insurance, not that it would matter if he didn't get in an accident. It was just that disregard for the law. Again, he wouldn't have thought Tim could manage something like that.

As they got closer, Tony began navigating and telling him where to go. They ended up in a suburban neighborhood on the outskirts of Norfolk. It was almost in the country, but not quite.

Parked near the back of the house, but still visible from the road, was Tim's Porsche. It had clearly been in the recent rainstorm (although Norfolk had only got the edges, not the brunt as farther inland had), but it didn't look like anyone had driven it in at least a week.

They parked and walked over to the car.

"Definitely McGee's," Tony said. "Hey! Look on the windshield."

Gibbs walked over and saw a note under one of the wipers, almost out of sight unless one came right up to it, as they were. Gibbs pulled it out and opened it. There was some water damage, but not as much as there could have been, all things considered.

The note wasn't long, but it was definitely Tim's handwriting.

 _Hey Ben,_

 _If you're reading this, then, I'm sure you're wondering why in the world my car is parked in your driveway. It's a long story, but since you were on vacation, I figured I could leave it here and have it be pretty safe. I also thought that I'd be back to get it before you got home. If I haven't, then, I apologize. You don't need to do anything with the car, though. If you need the space, then, you can call my boss, Agent Gibbs, at 202-555-3829. He'll take care of it. If not, then, at some point, either I or my parents will come and get it._

 _At this point, you're probably wondering what in the world Overlord is doing, and if you find this note, I promise you'll find out. :) It's been a while since we've hung out together, but this would be a pretty long story._

 _Long story short (Too late!), thanks for your driveway and hopefully, you don't even know I've been here._

 _Tim_

Gibbs passed the note over to Tony who read it quickly. He looked up.

"I'm impressed," he said. "He gave information without actually telling anything. There are a couple of details so that his friend knows it's him, and the only information he actually tells him is your name and number, and anyone looking for him would already know that stuff."

Gibbs nodded.

"So...what now? This tells us that he drove from Ohio down here, but where did he go from here?"

Gibbs looked around the neighborhood and saw a curtain twitch in a house across the street. Nosy or at least concerned neighbor. He smiled and started off. Tony followed.

They crossed the street and walked up the wooden steps to a bright yellow front door. Gibbs knocked and they waited. The curtains twitched one more time and then, finally, the door opened, revealing an old man. He was _really_ short and he peered up at the two of them suspiciously.

"Who are you and what are you doing, looking around Ben's house? He's not home and hasn't been for a few weeks. He's off galavanting around with his family in South America."

"That's fine. I'm Agent Gibbs. This is Agent DiNozzo. We're with NCIS." He pulled out his badge and ID so that the man could examine it.

"NCIS? What's that?"

Tony laughed. "I love that question. It's Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

Unexpectedly, the man's expression cleared. "Navy, huh? I was a Navy man, myself. _Long_ time ago. I was a lieutenant back then. Jake Walton." He shook Gibbs' hand. "What's the Navy doing with Ben? He's not Navy. He's kind of a computer guy, actually."

"Why am I not surprised?" Tony said. "A friend of McGee's? Gotta be another geek. Actually, we're not here looking for Ben. We're here about the car parked in his driveway."

"It's not his. He's not that fancy."

"Did you see the man who left it there?" Gibbs asked.

"Sure did. Ben never asked me to, but I keep my eye on his place when he's traveling. You never know about people."

"Sure don't," Gibbs said. "What did you see?"

"Well, it was just over a week ago. A man drove up in that fancy car. He sat in the car for a few minutes. I was about to go over and tell him that Ben was gone, but then, he got out and walked away."

"He walked?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. Just walked. I don't know where he was going or what he was doing, but he never came back and you can bet that I watched for him. He just walked away, left a car that probably cost a year's salary sitting in Ben's driveway. I figured that it could be that Ben was buying the car and had made arrangements. So...he didn't?"

"Nope."

"Why is the car there, then?"

"A friend of his left the car there because he needed a place to park it," Gibbs said. "He figured that it would be safer here than in a garage."

"Well, that's true enough. Not a lot happens here."

Gibbs thought about it for a few seconds and then made a decision.

"If you see anyone else looking at the car, would you call us?"

"Sure. Could you tell me why?"

"Not right now, but you may find out later."

"That sounds interesting. A real mystery. So if anyone I don't know starts looking the car?"

"Yep."

"I can do that."

Gibbs handed him his card.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Always happy to help out a Navy man."

Gibbs shook hands with Jake and then he and Tony headed back to the car.

"So he just walked away," Tony said. "He either had the new car already lined up or he just got a taxi and rode to where he could search for the car or just saw it along the road."

Gibbs nodded.

"So, what now, Boss?" Tony asked, as they got into the car. "We know he was here. Maybe he didn't get a new set of wheels. Maybe he's right around here, somewhere."

Gibbs thought about it as he drove away from the house. Then, he shook his head.

"No. He'll want to be in a place that's completely isolated. If there are people around, there's a much better chance that he'll be seen."

Tony smiled a little. "Yeah, by nosy neighbors."

Gibbs smiled a little, too.

"He doesn't want to have that chance at all, so he'll be somewhere that he can rely on seeing no one at all. It's safer."

"Yeah," Tony said, grimly, "until the people in charge find him and can take him out because he doesn't have any backup."

Gibbs nodded.

"That's why we have to find him, first."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Commander."

Sam looked up from the map he'd been studying.

"Report, Politz."

"Sir, I think you need to _see_ this."

Sam furrowed his brow.

"What is it?"

"I think I've found the base."

Sam was instantly on his feet.

"Standford, take over. Report to base on what we're doing. Larson, with us."

Standford hurried over to take position by the radio while Larson was instantly on his feet to join Sam and Politz as they headed out of the camp. They'd been searching and, so far, had only found a village. Just farming families, it appeared. There had been no sign of any kind of military base. He had just been getting ready to send them out farther, making sure that they would be able to get a complete view of the region before he reported that their mission was unnecessary.

They hurried through the jungle, almost silently until Politz raised his hand and drew them to a stop. Sam was surprised when he realized that Politz had led them right back to the village. Still, he trusted his men and so, while he wasn't sure what the purpose of coming here was, he didn't question Politz as he led them around and down to the river. The village was on a small ridge above the flood plain. Other than some cleared out fields, they were surrounded by jungle, but what Sam saw by the river was something altogether different.

It was an army. A small one, yes, but it was clearly using the village as a cover. In fact, it looked as though the base had been built into the ridge with the village sitting right on top. It was very likely that the people from the village knew it was there. How could they not? But the fact remained that, whether they agreed with this group or not, they were unarmed and would have no choice in the matter one way or the other.

This changed everything as far as Sam was concerned.

Without speaking, they pulled back from their observation and headed back toward their base. Once they were far enough away to speak without being heard, Politz stopped running.

"Sir," he said.

"How did you find that?" Sam asked.

"I assumed that the intelligence that sent us here would be more accurate than it seemed to be, so I started to examine the village for any sign of it being a fake. I didn't see that, but I saw a uniform and I tracked him around to that entrance. So far as I can see, it's right under the village. Sir, there's no way we can just destroy that base without killing a lot of civilians. It'd be like trying to keep a piece of glass from shattering when you hit the table it's sitting on with a sledgehammer! And there's not enough of us to take them on directly. This is impossible."

Sam nodded.

"Back to base. I'll report it."

"Yes, sir."

They started their run and got back to base in record time.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Once the Sun came up, Tim tentatively got out of the car and looked at the mess all around him. The area around the shack was a mud pit. Half the roof of the shack had fallen in, and large branches littered the area. He looked at it all for a few minutes without moving. Then, he walked around to the trunk of the car and opened it. He sighed with relief. The laptop was safe. ...and fully charged. He disconnected it from the battery and then left it where it was while he ascertained the viability of the shack.

The mud sucked at his shoes, and he slipped and slid his way to the shack. Once he got there, he stepped inside.

He saw the place where he'd nearly been killed. A large branch of a tree had fallen and the roof was so old that it couldn't support it.

"I guess I'll have more ventilation," Tim said aloud. "And who would expect a person to be living in here with the shack in this condition?"

That was a definite point in favor of sticking it out here as opposed to finding somewhere else. Sure, it was now worse than it had been, but sleeping in the car really hadn't been that bad. A bit cramped, but not too uncomfortable. Perhaps, he could just make that his habit and when he was ready to stop working for the day, he could move into the car when he recharged his laptop.

It was funny that he was so determined to stay when he hated it so much. There was something to be said for continuity, though. He had a rhythm for being here, and if he found another place, he'd have to find a new rhythm, never mind the time lost in finding somewhere new.

"Okay. Clean up the space and get back to work," he said to himself. It would take a little bit of time to clean up the debris and to get his work space back in order, but that was okay. He could handle it.

A little bit of physical activity to get him ready for the real work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a knock on the door. Faith looked up from her papers. She was reviewing her notes from interviewing Sam the day before, trying to formulate where she'd go first.

"Enter."

The door opened, revealing an intern who was spending a semester working with General Cresswell's aide.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Captain Coleman, but Major General Cresswell requested a meeting with you, if you have the time."

Faith raised an eyebrow. She hadn't yet made her representation of Sam McGee official, although she would have to, even if charges hadn't yet been filed. There was nothing else she was doing right now that would warrant a visit with the head of JAG. Still, a summons was a summons.

"I do. Thank you. Please tell General Cresswell that I will be there in two minutes."

"Yes, ma'am."

The intern left, giving Faith a few seconds to collect her thoughts. If Cresswell was going to be asking her about Sam, he would be up front about it. He was not the prevaricating kind. While she believed him to be honest, he could have his hands tied by the higher ups and requesting his support in that situation would be wrong...which was why she'd gone to Chegwidden instead.

Faith took a breath and then stood up. She was about to leave her notes on her desk, but caution dictated that she take them with her. So she gathered up her notes, placed them carefully in her briefcase and left her office, locking the door behind her.

She forced herself to walk at her usual brisk pace and that brought her to Cresswell's office much more quickly than she really wanted.

"You can go right in, Captain," the intern said, helpfully. "Major General Cresswell said he was waiting for you."

"Thank you," Faith said, rarely ever meaning those words less.

She knocked and then stepped into Cresswell's office.

"General," she said, respectfully.

"Captain Coleman," Cresswell said, his expression unreadable. "Have a seat."

"Yes, sir."

She sat down.

"I had a very interesting visit this morning."

That didn't require a response. It might encourage one, but it didn't require one. Faith said nothing.

"Would you mind telling me why you are taking a client for a case that has yet to be officially begun and why you never bothered telling me about it?"

"I was asked to, and I wasn't sure that you'd want to know in advance, sir," Faith said.

"So it's true, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"How do you know about this case?"

"As I said, I was asked to consider taking it on, and I chose to do so."

"By whom?"

Faith hesitated. Given the fact that Cresswell was still learning about this, Gibbs' involvement might not yet be common knowledge. How far would this knowledge go?

"I'm waiting, Captain."

"NCIS Special Agent Gibbs."

"Gibbs?" Cresswell repeated. "How in the world does _he_ know?"

"Sir, before I answer that, may I ask how _you_ know?"

Cresswell raised an eyebrow at her. "SECNAV was my visitor. He wasn't particularly happy about being kept in the dark regarding JAG's actions in this case. Actually, I'm not particularly happy about it, either."

Faith sat straight on the chair, not relaxing at all, but at the same time, she was secure in the rightness of her choice. She may be worried about the repercussions, but she wasn't worried that she'd chosen correctly.

"Sir, the son of Sam McGee, the man who will be accused, is on Agent Gibbs' team, and Agent McGee learned of the coming charges from his family."

"Why you?"

"Because Agent Gibbs has dealt with me before."

"And you're still on speaking terms?" Cresswell asked with just a hint of amusement.

"Barely," Faith said, remaining as serious as she could.

"Since what I've been told is true, then, I have one more question, Captain."

"Yes, sir?"

"Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Honestly, sir, I wasn't sure if it would be a good idea. I don't know how far it goes, but I'm already under someone's watch. I've had one person warn me off of taking the case and I've suspected being followed more than once in the last week."

"And this prevented you from telling me, how?"

"Because what I am doing could lead to the end of my career and I feel that it would be wrong to involve my superior in something like this. You can't be blamed for it, if you don't know about it. Sir."

Cresswell's brow furrowed.

"I appreciate your concern for my position, Captain, but your job is not to protect me. It's to defend your clients, and my job is make sure that you have the tools and the support to do it. I said it when they gave me this job: it's not about politics. It's about what's right and wrong. You tell me that you've been threatened? By whom?"

"Someone not in any of the Navy files, sir, although he did claim to be Navy. I've checked already and made a report with NCIS. His description generally matches that of a man who threatened the McGees as well. Close enough that it could be the same person, but not for certain. I told NCIS this."

"You told Agent Gibbs."

"Yes, sir. No matches so far."

Cresswell was quiet for a few seconds. Faith waited, patiently. However, when he didn't speak, she ventured a question since he didn't seem too upset at her.

"Sir, may I ask if you know the details of the charges? I know it's to be a general court martial and that it has to do with international relations, but Dr. McGee does not feel at liberty to disclose Top Secret details, even now. I will have to be read in before he can, and I'm afraid that will come too late for me to prepare adequately. Particularly since the charges haven't been filed yet."

" _Doctor_ McGee?"

"He's been an English professor in Ohio for the last twenty-five years. He's been paralyzed for the last twenty years."

While paralysis certainly didn't excuse past actions, it did complicate punishments, and they both knew it. Cresswell took a deep breath. There was no question that he shouldn't tell her anything until she'd been officially read in, but she could tell that he wasn't happy with the way this was shaping up.

"Mass murder is the charge, due to disobeying orders. They're saying he went rogue and got his entire unit killed, in addition to a number of civilians. This happened in Nicaragua during the eighties."

"I was told that there was international pressure."

"I have not been told that, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was the impetus for this, given the circumstances."

"Sir, if murder is the charge, he could be executed."

"Yes."

"Or extradited to Nicaragua to stand trial there, if the federal government wants this to go away quickly."

"Yes."

"And given the Top Secret nature of the operation, they could conceivably make the argument that all the proceedings should be closed, and Dr. McGee is not the kind of man who will break secrecy by going to the media."

Cresswell nodded in acceptance of her analysis.

"Sir, I don't believe that he's guilty. He has claimed his innocence, and based on these charges, I can't see his guilt as a possibility."

"Meaning that you have no intention of backing out?"

"Sir, Admiral Chegwidden said that I have to ask if I could live with myself if I walked away. I couldn't."

"Chegwidden? You went to him? Why?"

Faith smiled a little. "Because anyone who knew me at all would assume that I'd go to you."

Cresswell smiled a little as well.

"You don't need to massage my ego, Captain."

"I'm not, sir. It's the truth. I went to him because I figured no one would guess that I would, and I know that I can trust him, even if he is not someone I'm as comfortable with. I haven't spoken to him beyond that one time."

"Are you _ever_ comfortable, Captain?"

"Yes. Quite often, sir."

"Not now?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Neither am I. However, I trust your judgment and you _will_ have my support, until and unless you cross a line."

"Thank you, sir. I will try not to do that."

"I know that, Captain. Dismissed."

Faith stood up instantly and came to attention.

"Yes, sir."

She turned to leave.

"And, Captain?"

She turned back.

"Yes, General?"

"Be sure to tell A. J."

Faith allowed herself to show her confusion. Then, she caught the barest hint of a wink, and she realized he was giving her tacit permission to use Chegwidden as a resource.

"I will, sir...if I happen to see him."

Then, she turned and left Cresswell's office and headed back to her own, briefcase in hand.

When she got inside, she stopped in her tracks and looked around. Things were out of place. Not obviously. No one would notice.

Except someone like Faith herself. A piece of paper not quite lined up to the edge of the desk. The chair just slightly unaligned. Even the lamp turned from its usual spot, just a smidgen. She stepped forward to readjust the lamp and then stopped. As much as it troubled her to have anything out of place, this was now a crime scene. Someone had come into her office, even though her office door had been locked.

She walked back out of the office and into the hall. Then, she walked down to Bud's office and knocked.

"Come in!"

She opened the door.

"Hello, Captain Roberts. I just need to use your table for a moment," Faith said.

Quickly, she set her briefcase down, perfectly lined up as usual, opened it and pulled out her phone. She called Gibbs, ignoring Bud's confused expression. This was more important.

" _Gibbs."_

"Agent Gibbs, I would like someone to come to my office and see if you can get fingerprints to determine who broke in and looked through my desk. Quietly, if possible."

" _Did they get anything?"_

"If they did, it was nothing of value. I had all my notes with me. The meeting I was in was only a few minutes. They moved very quickly, in and out."

" _DiNozzo will be there as soon as he can."_

"Thank you. I'll be in Captain Roberts' office until then."

Faith hung up and turned to Bud.

"I hope it's all right if I stay here until Agent DiNozzo arrives?"

"What's going on, Faith?" Bud asked.

Faith forced herself to smile.

"They must know that I took the case."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim finally got everything set up again. He sat down and started working. He _knew_ he was close. So very close. He threw caution to the winds and let himself get fully absorbed in his hacking.

Before he knew it, he was in.

Now, it was just a matter of tracking down the information he needed.

He really felt like he was on the right track.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam was on the radio, in private. He needed to be able to speak freely to his second in command because, if Charlie had one weakness, it was a reluctance to make waves, and as the base, he had to be the one to do it.

"Charlie, I need you to get on the horn and tell them that we need to change our plans."

" _Why? What happened?"_

"We have underground bunkers, built right into the hillside _beneath_ the village. There's no way to take out the bunkers without taking out the village, too."

" _Are you sure the village is legitimate? That's probably why it's there, you know."_

"We have investigated that village very thoroughly. It's real. Even if it _is_ there as a decoy, the people in it are real people. There are _children_ there, Charlie. I don't care if every one of those people is being paid by the Sandanistas. I do _not_ kill children. I need you to ask how they want us to modify our mission or if they want us to pull out until another time, and I need you to do it now. This is not a suggestion, Commander Leadore. This is an order."

" _Yes, sir. I'll let you know."_

"Thanks."

Sam got off the radio and sat where he was for a few seconds. There was no way he could have anticipated this kind of complication. There was always a risk of injury to a civilian when the battle was happening all around them, but this would be a far different situation because they would be intentionally killing at least two hundred civilians. There was no way to evacuate them in advance, and it was a real possibility that they had been moved here to give cover to the army. However, as he'd told Charlie, he would never kill civilians, especially not the children he'd seen playing in the jungle. They didn't act like this was new to them. They seemed to know exactly what was in their environment.

" _Sam?"_

"I'm here."

" _They said they need time to discuss. You're to wait for further orders."_

"Understood. Out."

Sam left the tent and went out to where he was sure Politz had already passed on the information to the rest of the team. They looked at him.

"We wait for further orders. Recon continues as usual until we know what our orders are."

"Yes, sir."

Politz lingered after the others had dispersed.

"Something to say?" Sam asked.

"Will they tell us to kill all the people in that village?"

"I'm not a mind-reader, Politz. You'll know when I know," Sam said.

After Politz left, Sam let himself wonder the same thing. However, he couldn't let his men know he was questioning orders, not until it became necessary.

No matter what, though, he wouldn't do it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Tony walked into JAG and was conducted to Bud's office. When he got there, he saw Bud, looking a little confused and Faith, seemingly cool as a cucumber.

"Captain, I understand that you want me to check out your office?" Tony asked, trying to be a _little_ bit professional.

"That's correct, Agent DiNozzo. I'll show you the things that have been disturbed. I waited here because it would bother me too much to see them out of place."

Tony couldn't help smiling about that. There was no questioning her ability to notice details.

"Faith, you need to keep me in the loop, okay?" Bud asked.

"I will," she said. Then, she gestured to Tony. "Shall we?"

Tony nodded and followed her to her office.

"So, what do I need to check?"

"The lamp, that pile of papers, my chair, the doorknob, probably, although I may have touched it. I can't be sure if I did. If the invader bumped into the desk, that could explain the lamp, but the paper has definitely been moved by a person. I'm assuming that there will be something on the security cameras, although it's hard to say who, unless it's the same person it was before."

As he started working, Tony couldn't resist asking.

"So...how much out of place were all these things?"

He looked up and saw a slightly exasperated smile on her face. He had always teased her about her idiosyncrasies, and she was definitely used to it.

"You wouldn't have noticed. Not even Gibbs would have noticed, but I did."

"Okay."

He dusted for prints and came up with a few that Abby could check. All through his work, Faith said nothing. She just sat and waited for him to finish. He chanced a sideways glance at her and he finally twigged to the slight tension. She was troubled by this, and it wasn't because the piece of paper was slightly skewed.

"I'm sorry about this, Captain," he said, wondering if she'd accept concern.

"So am I, Agent DiNozzo," she said in a clipped tone. "I don't like people intruding on my life."

"Have they been at your house, too?"

"Not so far as I'm aware, but this is my life as much as my home is, and it's a place in which I'm used to feeling secure. I don't anymore."

He got the fingerprints stowed and pictures taken. Then, he turned around to face her directly.

"Do you want us to push on this?"

"Absolutely. Whether Dr. McGee is guilty or innocent, there is no excuse for this kind of behavior and I want whoever has done it to be taken down. So, yes, push. Push hard," Faith said. "And don't worry. I don't back out once I've made a decision."

Tony smiled. "I wasn't worried about that."

"Good. Now, if you're done, I have work to do."

"I am and I'll get this going right away. I'll put in a request for the security footage on my way out."

He turned to leave.

"Thank you, Agent DiNozzo."

"Hey, you're doing us a favor. Least we can do is pay you back for it."

"I'm not doing it for that reason. I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do."

"I know. That's what's so impressive. Have a great day."

Tony left Faith's office, got a promise that the security footage would be sent within the hour and then headed out. As he left the JAG building, he thought he caught sight of someone watching him just a bit too closely. He headed for his car, secure in the knowledge that he was in plain sight and there were plenty of people around.

The man was definitely shadowing him. Tony found this more than a little irritating. He didn't like the idea of anonymous people trying to get around the law through intimidation. So far, they'd seemed reluctant to engage physically with anyone, but the threats were going way too far.

Finally, he'd had enough. He got to his car, surreptitiously pulled out his phone and opened up his camera. Then, he abruptly spun around.

"Say cheese!" he said and snapped a few pictures of a man who was only about twenty feet away from him. "They've already been emailed to my boss. We may not know who you are yet, but we'll find out. That's a promise."

For just a second, Tony could see annoyance in the man's eyes. He took one threatening step forward.

"Don't forget. I'm an agent. I'm carrying right now," Tony said. "If you want turn this into something more than it is, just keep on coming closer. You're close enough already that I could easily just wing you and take you down without killing you. Are you ready for that?"

The man stopped his approach and Tony forced himself to smile.

"You want to make my job easier by telling me who you are? It'll save me some legwork."

The man sneered at him. "You couldn't pay me enough for that," he said. "You won't find me on record. Not where _you_ can look."

Then, he turned and walked away.

Tony waited until he was definitely gone and then he grimaced. He looked at his phone again and smiled. He had completely lied to the man. If he had emailed it to Gibbs, Gibbs would never have got it. In fact, Tony wasn't sure that Gibbs knew _how_ to open attachments in his email. He got into his car and then decided to check it for any problems. He got out again and checked it from stem to stern. He couldn't see that there were any issues. So he got back in and called Gibbs.

"Hey, Boss."

" _Fingerprints?"_

"Some, but I got something that might be even better."

" _What?"_

"A photo."

" _Of what?"_

"A guy who was trying to tail me at JAG. I snapped a few pictures on my phone. I'm heading back. He could be the same guy we've had before. We'll have to check with Sam McGee to see if it's the same one who threatened him. I'm hoping it is. I don't want to have to worry about multiple people."

" _You might."_

"I know."

" _Be careful."_

"Will do, Boss."

Tony hung up and drove back to NCIS, keeping his eye out for someone following him, but there was no obvious tail. He got back to NCIS safely and headed inside.

Hopefully, this would lead to something that would help.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Yes!" Tim said, triumphantly, jumping to his feet. It was the first real noise he'd made in a week (not counting shooing away the feral cat).

He had successfully hacked the Department of Defense. He looked around, sheepishly, worrying that maybe he had the worst timing ever and someone would be driving by right then.

But no, the road remained empty. He sat back down and got right to work. The first task was to find Charlie Leadore's records and see if it could show him anything about what his father had been doing.

He made sure he moved carefully through the DoD, but he also tried to be quick. The longer he was in there, the greater the possibility that they would see him and then be able to track him down. He had to balance the information he needed with the anonymity his work required.

Tim was so sure that Charlie Leadore was the key that it actually helped him in his search. He'd found, in the past, when he knew something had to be available and that it would help, that he was better at doing the work. The confidence gave him something a little extra.

In only took another half hour to find something referring to Charles Forest Leadore.

A file.

It was actually an honorable discharge file, the DD Form 214. Charlie Leadore had left the Navy only a year after Sam. His time joining was the same as Tim had expected it to be. His last assignment had _not_ been the mission Tim suspected he had been on with Sam. It was a posting to Washington, D.C. around the time the mission would have ended, but his rank had remained Commander. His home address after separation was listed as being in Dennis Township in New Jersey.

Why would this be hidden in such a way? It was a typical discharge file. Nothing shocking at all. There was no reason for it.

He looked more closely. His commanding officer in DC was listed, a Captain Jerald R. Stidden. Tim decided to find out who this guy was, just to check it out. He started looking, and was surprised that he didn't seem to exist. Again. Jerald R. Stidden. It was vaguely familiar for some reason, but Tim couldn't figure out why. Still, this was on the record, and that meant that this posting was probably bogus. It was whatever led to Charlie Leadore's departure from the military. The record indicated that his pension was much higher than his years of service would indicate. Instead of the 50 percent of his monthly salary that he would likely have received based on the Final Pay retirement system, he was getting his full salary when he left the military.

Whatever he'd done, he'd been well paid for it.

So what _had_ he done to deserve that bonus?

He went back to Jerald R. Stidden. Even if he didn't have a military record, maybe he was still a real person. If so, where to look?

Then, Tim had a thought and he had to check it out immediately. He did a quick search and sat back, both glad that his idea had panned out and a little disturbed at the implications.

Jerald R. Stidden did exist in the eighties, but he wasn't a captain in the U.S. Navy.

He was with the CIA. In fact, he was listed as having been a CIA liaison with the Navy. So why would Charlie Leadore be assigned to him in DC? Again, he was sure that this was due to the mission. Maybe it was just his own obsession with finding it, but he knew that the U.S. had operated through the CIA, even after Congress had cut off funding for some of these operations in the eighties. So the fact that the CIA was turning up made Tim think that he was right.

So now, it was time to find this operation. He had a name. He had a general date. Most importantly, he was in the Department of Defense and things that had not existed in regular records were here.

There was more to find. It was time to find it.

Tim started to look.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Commander."

Sam turned away from the jungle.

"Yes, Politz?"

"Commander Leadore is on the radio. He needs to speak to you."

"Thank you."

Sam took a deep breath and turned back to the trees for a few seconds. This was going to be his new orders (he hoped). This was the moment when he found out whether or not he would be insubordinate. This was where he would learn if he'd have to decide to follow the unofficial orders from Admiral Jackson. So far, he'd managed to keep his own fears and reservations away from his men and that was important. They couldn't feel like their own commander was conflicted about the mission...until and unless it became necessary.

He turned back and walked to the tent. Once inside, he dismissed Larson and took his position at the radio.

"Charlie."

" _Sam, I've heard back."_

"And?"

" _There's no change."_

"Excuse me?"

" _They said that there's no change to your orders. You are to destroy the garrison. That is top priority. Every other consideration is secondary. Those are their exact words."_

"Did you tell them about the hundreds of people in that village, right on top of the bunkers?"

" _Yes. I promise, Sam. They know."_

Sam was appalled.

"They know."

" _Yeah."_

"All right, then, you tell them that I am not asking this time. I am _telling_ them. I will _not_ lead a mission of mass murder. These are civilians. There are women and children in that village. I categorically refuse to follow their orders."

" _Sam, I can't just..."_

"Stop, Charlie," Sam said, his voice as sharp as he could make it without shouting. "You will _not_ refuse to pass along my message. That is _your_ job as base. If you don't tell them, then, I will march my team back to base and _I_ will make that call. _You_ will be demoted for the duration of our time out here and someone else will be put in your place as second in command. Is that clear, Commander?"

There was a long silence on the radio. Sam waited for thirty seconds. He knew because he counted every one of them.

"I said, are we _clear_ , Commander Leadore."

" _Yes, Commander McGee. You're very clear."_

"Good. Then, you _will_ tell them of my refusal, and you _will_ tell them to send a chopper to pick us up. If they will not, then, I will march this team back to the United States all the way through Mexico, if I have to, and they will _not_ want to deal with the man they left behind to rot. Understood?"

" _Yes."_

"Good. Call back when you have their answer. No sooner. McGee, out."

Sam disconnected and took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He was furious that his superiors would order him to kill innocents. He was furious that Charlie was showing exactly why he could never be the lead on a mission like this, and he was furious that all this was happening when, in reality, he just wanted to get back home to his family.

Once he was sure that he was calm enough to speak normally, he got to his feet and walked out of the tent. His team was there. He knew they would be. They could hardly fail to realize that there could be issues with what was going on here.

"I have received orders to destroy the bunkers in spite of the village on top of it," Sam said, calmly.

"Sir! We can't do that!" Politz protested, stepping forward. "Those people would be killed!"

"I'm aware of that, Politz, and you are speaking out of turn," Sam said, sternly.

"Sorry, sir," he said and stepped back.

Sam looked around at his team, meeting their gazes unflinchingly, evaluating what he thought their reactions would be. While he felt the same way Politz did, he would not lose control of his team...unless they chose that course.

"I intend to disobey those orders. I am waiting for a report back about our withdrawal. Given the nature of our mission, we may be left to fend for ourselves if we disobey. If you choose to follow those orders, I will not support you, but I will not condemn you. I am willing to step down as your commander if you feel that my actions warrant it. The military is not a democracy, but in this situation, I will allow you to express your opinion on my decision. You have been trained to do more than follow orders without thinking. That's why I chose you for this team. You have been trained to think and evaluate. I would be remiss if I did not allow you to do that. Winston Churchill once said that, 'courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen.' I am willing to listen."

He stood where he was, ramrod straight, and looked at his men. There was a period of silence. Then, Standford stepped forward. He had proved himself to be a good leader. If there was anything left of his reputation when they got home, Sam would give Standford many commendations for his performance.

"Sir, I can speak for the others. I would lose all respect for you if you ordered us to destroy that village. I would do it, but I would hate it and I don't think I could forgive myself for it. You have never given us any reason to question your orders. I don't question them, now. My only question is what are we going to do to get home?"

Sam wanted to celebrate that he had not misread his men, but he didn't. He just looked at the others to make sure that Standford was truly speaking for them. They all nodded.

"First, we are going to wait until we hear back from base. If they won't come to get us, we are closer to home here than we would be at base. We will have to find a way to get back on our own and that is something we will decide as a team. If they will, then, it is better to wait where we are, until we find out where our extraction point will be."

"Yes, sir," Standford said.

"Until that time, remember that we are still in hostile territory and we cannot slack on our watches. Those will continue as normal until we have more information. That means, Politz and Anderson, you're on watch."

"Yes, sir."

As his men scattered, Sam knew that he was now committed to a very dangerous course. He would see it through, and he would hope that he could get his men through it with as little fallout as possible.

But he would face whatever consequences there were with a clear conscience.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Gibbs headed for the lab. He didn't want to take this step, but with Tony now being targeted as well as Faith _and_ the McGees, he didn't know how much longer they could wait before these people started doing more than intimidating.

The doors opened and, for once, he didn't bother to tell Abby to turn the music down, nor did he turn it down himself. He walked over to Abby and handed her a piece of paper.

She looked at it with her brow furrowed, but then, she looked at him with an excited expression. He kissed her on the cheek.

"Don't get caught," he said.

"Not a chance," Abby said.

Then, he walked out of the lab, leaving Abby to her work, hoping that he hadn't made her a target, too.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim jumped at the sound that pulled him away from his work and he turned away from his computer.

The feral cat meowed at him from the pile of debris that had been the roof.

That stupid cat. It was back again. Tim sighed with irritation.

"Look, I'm busy, okay? This is really important, and I can't have you continually startling me. It breaks my rhythm. I've been patient up to now, but if you keep this up, you'll find that I'm not very patient!"

The cat sat where it was and started grooming itself, ignoring Tim's declaration in that infuriating manner cats have. Clearly, it had decided that Tim wasn't scary. Tim sighed again.

"Really? You're really going to stay right there?"

The cat continued to groom. It made no approach and it didn't appear interested in leaving.

It would take too much effort to chase it away yet again.

"Fine. You stay over there and I'll stay over here, but I'm warning you that if I start sneezing, you're out of here and I wouldn't be above shooting you. Got it?"

The cat started licking its paws, not a care in the world. Tim rolled his eyes and got back to work.

He didn't know what he was looking for, so it took time and a lot of effort to make sure he could keep looking without being found out as a hacker.

It was another hour before he found something.

A report of the mission by Charles Leadore.

From there, he found another report, given by the same Jerald Stidden he'd found before.

And that led him to another report, written by Admiral Jackson.

And then, finally, a last report.

Given by his father.

It was an embarrassment of riches after so many days of trying to get anything at all. Here he was, staring at four different files that might answer his questions. He copied them all to his own computer and then, he forced himself to keep searching. Now that he knew there was something, he wanted to see how much more there was.

Another hour gave him more.

Correspondence between Jerald R. Stidden...and the Secretary of Defense. That pinged on his brain again. Why? But there was more and he figured he could spend more time analyzing after he got what he could and got out. There were also some letters between the SecDef and Admiral Jackson. The Secretary of Defense had more power over the military than any other person in the country, excepting only the President himself. If this was where the orders had originated, they went very high indeed, and it seemed possible that the President had known about it, as well. He downloaded all the correspondence, and then, he got out of the DoD.

"I don't know what all I have now," he said, absently speaking to the cat who was sitting there, watching him. "But I _know_ I have something. Now that the moment is here, I'm actually a little afraid of finding out what this is, what the story is."

He thought about saving his dad's account for last, but no. He wanted to read that first, and he would give his father's words the respect they had clearly not been given thirty years ago.

He read it and was horrified, and he could see between the lines, how upset Sam was about what had happened. It was nothing overt in the words, but the phrasing became excessively formal in some places which was how Tim had always seen his father act when he was covering extreme emotion.

As he read, Tim found that he was shocked at what exactly his father had been doing. He had been a part of the Reagan doctrine that was part of history classes now. Tim knew, from looking at his file, that Sam had been involved in a lot of these secret missions. Part of him recoiled from knowing that his own father had been a part of those controversial and, in some cases, unethical operations in Central America. At the same time, he also felt that he knew Sam's personality well enough to know that he wouldn't have done it if he hadn't believed it was the right thing to do. While that might not remove all of Tim's hesitancy, it eased the anxiety that, perhaps, Sam had really been in the wrong. He read all the way to the end, and then, he decided to read Charles Leadore's account.

What he found made him more than horrified. It made him furious. Now, he understood why his parents had never mentioned Charlie Leadore, why Tim himself really didn't remember him, and why Sam had been so unwilling to talk about him on that day that seemed like forever ago but was really only a little over a week.

Charlie had betrayed Sam. There was no other way to look at it. The question now was how Sam had avoided being punished back then.

Remembering Admiral Jackson's commendations, Tim decided to look at that next. What he read there was a surprise but it gave a good explanation for how things had fallen out.

 _As per my orders, Commander McGee assessed the situation and determined that the standing orders he had been given before the mission began were incorrect. As the commanding officer on the ground, he has my full support. I had warned him that the details might change, requiring the plan to change with them and I gave him additional orders that he should make the decisions himself and to disobey if he felt that the original plans were flawed. If any punishment must be meted out, then, that punishment should fall on my head as his superior._

There had been no indication of demotion or punishment of Admiral Jackson. And Sam had been retired from the Navy shortly after this. And Admiral Jackson was now dead. Sam had no more protection from him. Would this have happened if Admiral Jackson had still been alive? He would be very old by this time, but who could know?

Suddenly, his computer beeped at him.

Low battery.

"No!" he protested. "No, you can't run out of juice _now_. I'm just getting what I want!"

He'd been doing too much and now, he had nothing to do to change it. He had to stop for the day and let the computer recharge. He sighed heavily and felt a surge of frustration. He shut down the laptop with a few emphatic clicks and looked at the cat.

"This is _not_ fair," he said, angrily. "I've just found something important and I have to stop. It's just not fair."

The laptop was off and waiting for him to take it outside. Tim picked it up and stomped out to the car. He plugged it in and slammed the trunk shut. Then, he was instantly worried that he'd damaged something, so he opened the trunk again and assured himself that he hadn't broken anything. The laptop and battery were both fine. He sighed again and closed the trunk with less force. Then, he looked around. There was no one nearby. It felt like he was the only person in the world, although he knew that was far from being the case.

He took a deep breath and let out a wordless bellow of frustration. Then, he looked around again to make sure that he hadn't been too foolish and walked back to the shack. He was hungry and so he ate some more granola bars and fruit snacks. They were far from satisfying, but they would suffice. As he sat and ate and drank some water, he considered what he would do with this information, depending on what else he found. Right now, what he had was his father's account which he accepted as true, and Charlie Leadore's account which had to be false since it didn't agree with his father's account. The problem was finding something more than his assumptions to support it and he suspected there would be something in the correspondence he hadn't been able to look at.

"I should have looked at that, first," Tim said, berating himself. "I was stupid to look at the reports, first. I should have looked at the real evidence, not just reports that don't have the evidence I need."

He finished eating, drank some more water, and then tried to calm himself down.

"It's just one more day. It's important, but what's one more day? There hasn't been a single sign of anyone knowing where I am. Not one. There's barely been any life out here besides me and that stupid cat."

He paused and glared at the feral cat that was now snoozing in the sunlight filtering through the collapsed roof. He shook his head.

"It's okay, and if I let myself get all riled up, it'll only mean that I can't sleep and won't be ready to get this done."

He took deep breaths to calm himself down. He had to admit that some of this was probably lingering from his fright the night before. Speaking of, maybe he should just get into the car now and try to sleep. But no, it wasn't late enough for that. Instead, he tried to sit and relax. He wasn't sure he'd be able to, but he could try it.

He made himself as comfortable as possible and tried to think calming thoughts.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Standford, with me," Sam said, abruptly.

It had been six hours with no reply from Charlie, and he was getting worried. However, he had other worries as well. His men were well-trained, but they were still human beings and this was probably not a situation they had ever expected to be in. He needed to know if any were going to get too edgy for what might need to be done.

Standford stood and joined him. They walked a short distance from the camp.

"Yes, sir?" he asked.

"How are the men taking it?" Sam asked, bluntly.

"Why ask me, sir?"

"Because you already took on the role of being the voice for the rest of the team," Sam said. "And they let you do it."

Standford smiled a little and nodded.

"They're tense, sir. Politz is more worried about what might happen to that village than to us, but all of them want to get home and they're afraid that they won't. Would the government really leave us out here?"

"It's a possibility. I don't know how likely it is, but it is a possibility."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Granted."

Standford took a breath and looked straight at him.

"Sir, I don't see how I could fight for a country that would do something like this. We're the ones on the ground. We're the ones who see what's going on. How can I support someone who won't support me?"

Sam smiled. "Because you're not fighting for _them_. You're fighting for the other 240 million Americans who know nothing about you, who have no idea that you're fighting for them, and might not even care about the sacrifice you're willing to make for them."

"But what if what we're fighting for is wrong?"

Sam could see that Standford had been an idealistic sailor up until now. It was hard to see the callous and occasionally unethical attitude of their superiors for the first time.

"That's when you have to hope that there's something right that you really just don't know about. In this case, there may be, but I'm choosing not to let that dictate that I kill civilians. Maybe, I'm wrong."

"I don't think you are, sir," Standford said. "I don't see how getting this garrison right here, right now, is going to change what the Sandanistas do down the road, and by killing these people, wouldn't we be making ourselves as bad as we say _they_ are?"

"That's my point of view, Standford. Those in charge may not agree. I may face disciplinary action, including the possibility of a dishonorable discharge for disobeying orders."

"Well, I'll speak for you, sir."

Sam smiled. "Thank you, Standford. Now, keep your eye on Politz. I don't want him doing anything stupid and getting us all killed."

"Yes, sir."

Standford walked away and Sam couldn't help wondering if he had been right to say those things to one of his subordinates. At the same time, this wasn't the normal military. This was completely different and he knew that he had a responsibility to keep his men open-eyed about what they were doing. It was too dangerous to keep them in the dark.

It was another four hours before there was any contact from base. Larson had been on radio duty and he called Sam over to the tent. Sam cleared out the tent and got on the radio, wondering, briefly, if he'd still have Charlie as a friend when this was over.

"McGee, here. What have you got for me?"

" _I have coordinates for pickup."_

"When?"

" _2300 hours, tomorrow night. You'll need to pack up there and move back here to base by 0800 tomorrow morning and we'll keep going to the rendezvous point."_

Charlie's tone was clipped and formal. Sam didn't blame him for it. He regretted having to lecture his friend, but out here, friendships had to come second to getting done what had to be done.

"Chopper?"

" _Yes."_

"Any movement in your area?"

" _Not a peep."_

"Good." Sam hesitated and then decided to say what he knew Charlie would care about. "Charlie, you won't take the blame for this. I'm in command. This is my call and you're just obeying orders."

" _Do you have any other questions?"_

"None. We'll be there by 0800."

" _Leadore, out."_

Sam got off the radio and walked back out.

"Who's on recon right now?" he asked.

"Standford and Larson," Politz said.

"We're clearing out. We move as soon as they get back. I want this place packed and ready in no more than one hour."

"Yes, sir."

The others began to work. Politz lingered for just a moment.

"Sir, may I ask a question?"

"Yes, Politz."

"What's going to happen after we leave?"

"In what respect?"

"Will another group come down here to do what we're not doing?"

"Possibly. They could also choose to send down a bigger force to engage them more directly or they could give up on it."

"After all this time planning..."

Sam nodded. "It's still a possibility, Politz."

"Sir...couldn't we warn them?"

"No," Sam said. "I am unwilling to kill them because they're civilians, but it could be that they're willingly living above that bunker. They must know about it. It's not hidden well enough that no one would see it. If we tell them, then, they'll know that we're here. If they're _not_ willingly living there, then, they're probably secretly getting out a few at a time. Telling them will very likely get us killed, and them, too, if we do it wrong."

Politz looked unconvinced.

"Politz, do _not_ get yourself killed. Remember that we work as a team here. What happens to one happens to us all. If you do something stupid, we _all_ pay the price for what you do. That's why I was willing to step aside if my decision was not supported. Believe me. There's very little worse than knowing you got people killed."

Reluctantly, Politz nodded.

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

"Good. Now, get to work."

"Yes, sir."

Sam was glad they were leaving. Politz was a good man and a good sailor, but he was a bit too impetuous. He would be the person who would think that he could do both, and it just wasn't possible. In reality, Sam could understand his feelings, and if there was any way to be sure of their own safety, he would support that kind of action, but there just wasn't.

Everyone did their part and the site was cleared in much less than an hour. There were a few signs of their presence, but not many, and the way the jungle grew, it wouldn't take long before all evidence was covered up.

Just as Sam was about to relax a little, there was a commotion in the trees. Standford came running in. Alone. He was bleeding from the arm.

"Commander! We've been sighted! We have to move out, now!" he said.

"Where's Larson?" Sam asked, although he felt that he probably knew. Standford wouldn't come in alone if there was another option.

"Dead, sir. It was a lucky shot. Right in the head. I checked him, but he was dead."

Standford held out Larson's dog tags. Sam hated leaving him behind, but there was no way they could carry a dead man. While everything inside him was crying to go back and get Larson's body, the practical side of him, the part of him that was an experienced officer in the Navy, knew that doing so would only get the rest of his men killed. If they'd been found by that garrison, they were outnumbered by a significant number.

Sam nodded and took the dog tags. In a normal battle, they would leave them so that the body could be identified later, but in this case, they couldn't _be_ identified. Larson might be an obvious American, but they would have no proof because there would be no ID saying who he was or why he was there. This would be all his family received. ...if they got out alive.

"Standford, are you able to continue on?"

"Yes, sir. Just winged me."

"Good. Move out! We're headed to base and then to our rendezvous. We stay ahead as much as possible. Flores, you and Politz will scout ahead to make sure our way is clear. Don't get your heads blown off. Standford, with me. Austin, Greene, Crespo, you're in back. Let's go!"

Instantly, they ran into the jungle, headed back to base to link up with Charlie, Archer and Dillan.

Sam just hoped that they'd make it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Abby had stayed at work late to make sure she could get her secret request out without any observers. However, with Gibbs being so careful, she had decided to just stay the night, not having any particular plans and knowing that she was quite safe in her lab. Once she made her request, she grabbed her futon and curled up with Bert. Besides, her friend might come through more quickly than she had thought and getting information quickly was key in this situation.

She had to admit that Tim had managed to stump her. On her own, she wouldn't be able to find him, at least, she hadn't so far. It galled her that he could do it. Tim wasn't supposed to be so good at subterfuge. He wasn't sneaky enough for that. He was too open, too honest. What did it mean when he could do all this without anyone realizing ahead of time and without anyone being able to track him down? ...so far, anyway. What worried her was that someone _else_ would find Tim before they did. She didn't like what was happening to Tim's parents. She didn't like that Faith and Tony had both been followed. How was it that these people were able to track them down so easily?

The thoughts repeated in her mind over and over until she finally fell asleep.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Faith had been kept late, and she didn't like being kept late, especially not right now. However, she wasn't about to spend the night at JAG and the parking lot was well-lit. She was armed and could hope that the people calling the shots wouldn't be headed for physical confrontations as yet.

As she neared her vehicle, she saw someone right beside. He was standing just right to be in shadow. She considered whether to go back into the building or to confront him.

She decided that this had gone far enough. Keeping her hand near her weapon, she approached.

"Look, this is getting ridiculous. Get away from my car or I'll shoot you, and I promise that my aim is very good."

There was a long pause. Then, the man stepped forward into the light.

"Commander Coleman? This is _your_ car?"

"Captain," she corrected, coldly. "Yes, it is. What do you want?"

"You don't remember me? Five years ago. Ensign Calder."

Then, it clicked.

"Yes, I do remember you, Ensign. You were sent to intimidate me. I thought better of you."

"I didn't know it was you. I was told to just be here at your car."

"To intimidate me."

Calder had the grace to look a little ashamed.

"You knew that, didn't you?"

"I figured."

"And you agreed?"

"Orders are orders."

Faith smiled. "You realize the irony of _you_ saying that, I hope."

"Hey, I learned my lesson. I haven't been in trouble since then. Not once."

"Do you need a ride somewhere?" Faith asked.

"Uh...I guess. I didn't bring my car."

"All right. Get in."

Faith was pretty sure that the people who had sent Calder to loom at her had not planned on her giving a ride to him. He got into the car and she pulled out.

"Now, you tell me who gave you those orders."

"Captain, I can't do that!"

"Yes, you can, and you will. I took a big risk when I took your case five years ago. I believed you when not many of my colleagues did. You can now tell me who gave you orders to try to force me to give up the case I'm working on now. You're not the first person to try it."

"I'm not?"

"No. You're not, and I have to say, Ensign Calder."

"I'm actually a Lieutenant, Junior Grade," he said, awkwardly.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"Lieutenant Calder, you're not very good at this."

"That's because I know you."

"I'm glad that helped. Now, who ordered you to hover around my car?" Faith asked.

Calder grimaced. It wasn't that Faith didn't appreciate the situation she was putting him in, but she couldn't ignore the chance to get more information.

"My commanding officer."

"With whom?" Faith asked. She knew that his commanding officer was very unlikely to be the source of the intimidation. Someone else must have been involved. Whether or not that person had actually been present wasn't a given, but it was still something that he might know.

"I don't know who it was," Calder said. "And that's the truth. I've never seen him before, and he didn't introduce himself. Captain Meyerson didn't introduce him, either."

"Was he in uniform?"

"No."

"What did he look like?"

"He was older, probably in his sixties. Skinny, balding. He seemed like he was important, though. He sure acted like he was."

"And Captain Meyerson let him?"

"Yes."

"Then, he probably was. What were his orders?"

"That I come to this car and just...make sure that the owner...you...saw me."

"No orders to engage?"

"No. None. I wouldn't have even said anything if I hadn't recognized you."

"Okay. Where can I drop you off?"

"Just at the next Metro stop. I don't..."

Faith couldn't quite suppress the smile and didn't bother forcing him to complete his thought. She saw a station coming up and she pulled over.

"Lieutenant Calder, if this comes up again, you can tell them I recognized you and they won't have you do it. What these people are doing depends on anonymity. Would you be willing to describe this man in detail and make a sketch of him?"

Calder looked understandably nervous about that.

"I won't push it. For now," she said. "Here's the Metro."

"Thanks, Captain. ...and thank you for what you did for me before."

"It's my job, and one thing I want you to think about, Lieutenant. I'm doing the same thing for this man as I did for you. It's just that the stakes are a lot higher in this situation. His life is on the line, not just his career."

Calder nodded awkwardly and got out of the car. Hopefully, she could get him to talk in a day or so. She'd tell Gibbs about him and see what came of it. It was a relief that, at least for now, the orders were not to engage. Still, an important person that Calder may or may not have recognized. He was nervous, and that could be because he was doing something he knew was not quite right or it could be because he was lying to her and he was afraid that she'd find out.

All things considered, it was an interesting end to her day. Not particularly wonderful, but interesting. She headed home and was relieved when she got there safely. She had never appreciated the 24-hour security in her building more than she had during this last week.

Once she got into her apartment, she set her briefcase on the floor in its designated space, removed her shoes, walked over to her couch and sat down, grateful to be in the one place where she had everything under control. She lay down and tried to relax the tension in her muscles.

After a few minutes, she had a sudden thought and she had to check it before she convinced herself that it was ridiculous.

Because it was. There was no way that this could possibly go _that_ high.

She walked to her computer and did a quick search. It didn't require that she even get into her work account. All it took was a Google search.

She saw the picture. A skinny, balding man in his sixties.

J. Roger Stidden.

The Secretary of Defense.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

 _Thirty years ago..._

They linked up with Charlie, Dillan and Archer and started off into the jungle toward the rendezvous point. The problem was that the pick up was scheduled. They couldn't get it there earlier. So even if they got to the rendezvous early, they'd still have to find a way to avoid the garrison until the chopper got there.

Sam was hoping that they'd make it right on time.

They were covering ground and there hadn't been a shot fired in about an hour. He was beginning to think that maybe they'd succeeded in losing their pursuers.

That was the last clear thought he had.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash and something threw him backwards. He landed on the ground hard, in a total daze.

How long he lay there, Sam couldn't say. Everything was disconnected, but he distantly heard some commotion.

Then, there were voices.

"Sam! Sam!"

Hands on him. Pain. Something hot and sticky on his face.

...and darkness.

"Charlie?" he whispered.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm here."

"I can't see. Charlie, I can't see!"

"We'll get you out, Sam. Standford, are you all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Grab Commander McGee. Sam, can you walk?"

He wasn't sure. He felt like he couldn't move at all, and he definitely didn't feel like he was at all coherent. All he knew was that there was pain and darkness.

Hands on him pulling him upright. It really hurt and he couldn't suppress a groan, but he tried to stand. His head was spinning unpleasantly and nothing felt or sounded right. He was so disoriented that he could have been standing on his own head and he wouldn't really have known.

"Charlie?"

"I'm right here, Sam."

"Politz, Flores..."

"Let's go," Charlie said. "Standford, you've got one side. Dillan, you take the other. I've got Crespo. Let's move!"

Sam tried to walk as much as possible, but he couldn't see where he was walking. His body felt like it had been used as a punching bag, and he was so confused. He listed to first one side and then the other. There was no way to make any substantial progress. He sagged down for a few seconds and realized that he wasn't falling to the ground.

Hands around his waist. Oh, yeah. There was something about that.

Sam tried to focus, but it just wasn't working.

"I can't see," he said, again.

"Don't worry, sir. We'll get you out of here."

After an interminable amount of time spent in pain and blind, there was a sound.

"There's the chopper! I can hear it!"

Over the sound of the approaching chopper, Sam heard a crack and then, he was suddenly falling to the ground, being dragged down by...something.

"Commander!"

More cracks. Sam was back on the ground. The sound of the chopper was louder and louder.

"Okay, let's get him on! Move it!"

Sam felt himself pulled off the ground again. More cracks and he was back down. He could hear the rotors. Maybe he could help out by moving that direction. He tried to get up and he felt something on his hand. Sticky, like on his face.

Blood.

Was it his own or someone else's? Sam had no idea. He could barely think coherently enough to consider the possibilities.

"Commander! Come on! We're getting out, right now!"

That wasn't Standford. Or Dillan.

"Standford!" Sam shouted.

"We've got him, Sam. Let them help you!"

Charlie. At least there was one voice he knew.

Then, he was on the chopper, being secured in a seat with more cracks going on all around him. He felt the disorientation increase as the chopper lifted off the ground. Then, he heard one more thing.

"Hey!" Charlie said. "What are you doing?!"

"Orders, Commander!"

And there was an explosion, followed by a series of expletives from Charlie.

"Charlie...what happened?"

"They just... Sam, they just took out the bunkers."

"The village?" Sam asked.

"Gone."

Sam felt as though his whole body deflated. All the adrenaline that had kept him going during the evacuation was sucked out of him and his energy was gone. Everything they had done was to make sure that the village survived. For nothing. He had known that the possibility existed that the government would still want that done, but he hadn't thought they would work so fast.

He tried to stand up to protest, but the pain hit him again and he sagged down wherever it was he was sitting. He felt Charlie's hand on his arm, keeping him in place.

"Don't worry, Sam. We're out."

"How many?" Sam asked, feeling himself fading.

A long pause.

"Not all of us. Just relax. We're out and on our way home."

That was the last thing he heard as his body finally decided it had gone through enough.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Chegwidden heard his front door open and close and he was up in an instant. Harm had been out all day, trying to be the kind of schmoozer he really wasn't but could occasionally pull off.

"A. J.?"

Chegwidden came hurrying down the stairs.

"You're back pretty late," he said.

Harm grinned. "This kind of thing takes time, you know."

"And? Did all your partying and glad-handing result in information?"

His smile faded. "Yeah, some."

"Not good?"

"Nope. Not good."

Chegwidden sat down and Harm followed suit, tossing his jacket onto the arm of the couch.

"What I'm hearing is only in whispers, right now. They're trying to keep this quiet until everything is settled."

"And what is settled?"

"For the ones starting it, Sam McGee out of the way. Forever. Either in prison for the rest of his life or extradited to Nicaragua."

"Nicaragua?"

"Yeah. That's where this thing went down back in the eighties. I don't know what it was, only that it was bad and the Nicaraguan government has been putting on the pressure, basically threatening to sue the federal government. And this is going pretty high."

"How high?"

"This part is in very soft whispers," Harm said. "I don't know if it's true or not, but it gives an idea if nothing else. The Secretary of Defense."

Chegwidden's eyes widened. "Wow. You wouldn't think one case, involving _one_ man, would be this big."

"Someone high up must have been intimately involved in this operation for it to be this important. These secret operations went on for years and, while the U.S. has suffered a few black eyes for them, it's not like they're still secret."

"Unless _one_ is."

"Yeah. This one."

"Anything else?"

"They're not going to make the charges official until they're sure they can keep the entire trial sealed and they'll probably get that, but it'll take time to get the right panel, and if it really does go as high as the SecDef, you can bet that there'll be stacking of the deck."

"I'm sure there already has been."

"You're probably right." Harm smiled a little. "I thought I'd pretty much got all that stuff out of my blood, but if ever there was a case that pulled me back..."

"You could offer your services to Captain Coleman."

Harm laughed outright. "No, I don't think so. She's much too precise and I'm too reckless. We'd kill each other. I'm slightly surprised that she didn't just do that when I was her client just to save time. Besides, I do have to get back. I promised Sarah."

"Been nice having you out here."

"I haven't been back to DC in years. I don't think it's improved much...politically speaking."

"I don't think so, either. When does your flight leave?"

"Not until tomorrow afternoon. I was going to make a couple more calls before I go."

"Sounds like a plan. Thanks for doing this, Harm."

"You probably could have done it just as well."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Harm smiled again. "You could have and you know it, but I won't push the issue. I'll just go to bed. I'm turning into an old man and I like my sleep."

"Feel free."

Harm got up and went into the spare room. Chegwidden watched him go and he sighed. It wasn't sounding good, but forewarned was forearmed. Maybe he shouldn't wait for Faith to come to him. Maybe he needed to go find her and let her know what he knew.

He'd make a decision in the morning. For now, he was ready to sleep, himself.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

A ringing interrupted Abby's slumber on her futon. She sat up and fumbled around until she grabbed it and answered, yawning widely.

"Hello?"

" _Hey, Abby. You told me to call whenever I got something, right?"_

"What time is it?" Abby mumbled.

" _About 4:30 in the morning. You said to call whenever."_

"Yeah, I guess I did." She yawned again. "You have something?"

" _I do. I found the general area where your friend's got to be."_

Now, she was completely awake.

"What?! You did? How?"

" _Let's just say that if anyone ever finds out what I did, I'll either get fired and put in jail or get a huge promotion, but I'm not willing to see which one by telling anyone."_

Abby chuckled. "Okay. Tell me!"

" _West Virginia. I can't give you an exact location because he went into some pretty thick forest, but he was on US-48 at Buckhannon and then he got onto 20 and went north. He got off the main road and started driving through the forest. I'll send you the exact coordinates when I lost him. I couldn't find any sign of him after that and I checked every road going into and out of that area for a few days after, so he must still be in there...or else, he got a different car. I wouldn't know that part."_

"That's more than enough. Thank you!"

" _And how will you demonstrate your thanks?"_

"However you want," Abby said. "Just let me know."

" _That sounds great. I have a few new recipes that I've been wanting to try and no one dares sample my cooking the first time around."_

"Sounds like a plan. I've got to go."

" _No problem. You should have the coordinates and a description of the car right now."_

Abby checked and saw that she did, indeed, have an encrypted email.

"I do. You still on duty?"

" _Only until I hang up with you."_

"Then, I'll let you go. You deserve some sleep."

" _See ya, later, Abby."_

"Bye, Chaz."

Abby disconnected and then sent Gibbs a text. He might not use them that often, but he knew how to check them.

 _Gibbs. Come and see!_

Then, she sat back to wait, no longer a bit tired with the adrenaline rush of possibly finding out where Tim was.

Gibbs didn't call her back, but he did come to NCIS. By five thirty a.m., he was walking into her lab.

"What is it, Abbs?" he asked.

"I know the general area where Tim is! Or probably is."

"How?"

"A guy I know who has some connections."

"Reliable?"

"Absolutely. Here are the coordinates where he last saw Tim."

She held out a map with the place marked. As Gibbs looked it over, her lab doors opened again and Tony trudged in.

"This had better be good," he said, grumpily. "I was having a really nice dream when you called, Boss."

"We're going to find Tim. Now."

Instantly, Tony perked up a bit. "What? Just like that?"

"Hopefully," Abby said. "He's in West Virginia. Or he was. As long as he didn't get a different car than he drove there."

"Even for McGee, that might be one too many steps," Tony said. "We leaving now?"

"Yep. Let's go."

"Can I come?" Abby asked.

"Tell Ducky where we are when he gets here," Gibbs said. "Don't try to call us. We'll call when we can."

"Okay," Abby pouted a little, but it wasn't like she usually got to go. She just wanted to this time. "Bring him back, all right?"

"That's the plan."

Gibbs walked out with Tony in tow. Abby could only hope that this had the positive result they all wanted, i.e. Tim back at work, _not_ in prison.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs handed Tony the map and he looked at it.

"West Virginia, huh?"

"Looks like it."

"It looks like it's just on the edge of the Radio Quiet Zone. You think he knows that?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Yeah. Depends on how much he really planned in advance."

"He only had a couple of days."

"Yeah, but he's done pretty well, hasn't he. Even Abby had to get a friend to help her find him. She couldn't do it on her own. Tim isn't supposed to be that good. I'm sure that bothers her. A lot."

"Yeah, I'm sure it does."

Tony grinned.

"Well, this looks like about four hours to get there. How fast are you going to drive?"

"Fast enough."

"Okay, then."

They got into the car and Gibbs started them off toward West Virginia. Tony felt like there was some kind of tension in the air, as if this wasn't going to be just finding their wayward teammate.

"You think that something's wrong, Boss?"

"No way to know if any of this was kept secret. They've been pretty even with us so far."

"And we don't want them to get ahead."

"No, we don't."

With that, they were off.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam drifted in and out of consciousness for an unknown period of time. Whenever he woke up, he would try to ask about his team, but either he didn't stay awake long enough to hear or he didn't get any answers. It didn't help that every time he woke up he was still in darkness. He had vague memories of being told that they were covering his eyes to let them heal or some such nonsense, but he couldn't really be sure of that.

What he _was_ sure of with every waking was pain. There was pain from head to toe and he thought he complained about it, but every time he did, more time passed without his knowing it. He wanted to get information, but he was distracted by his pain and blindness.

Finally, one...day. He had no idea, really, if it was day or night. He couldn't see a thing. He woke up and felt _really_ awake. The pain was still there, but it was at least a little muted. Maybe now, he could get answers.

"Hello?" he asked, wondering if someone was there.

"Sam? You're awake!"

"Charlie," Sam said, with relief. His confused memories hadn't kept him aware if Charlie had lived or not.

"Yeah. How are you feeling?"

"Terrible. Where are we?"

"Aboard the _Vinson_."

"How long has it been?"

"Almost a week."

"When are we getting back to base?"

"We put into port tomorrow."

"Good. How many did we lose?"

"Sam..."

"Charlie, how many did we lose?"

There was a long silence.

"Please, Charlie. Tell me."

He heard a heavy sigh. "All but Standford and Crespo."

"Only two?"

"And, Sam... They may not make it, either. Standford took multiple rounds right as the chopper landed. He's still really weak and it's not looking good. Crespo's injuries are worse than yours. He was closest to that...thing. Took a lot of shrapnel. He's still alive, right now, but..." Another sigh. "...but the docs don't think it looks too good for him, either."

"And me?"

"They said that your eyes will heal. They did some surgery and stopped some internal bleeding. You'll get better."

"And you?"

"Hardly a scratch. Little bit of shrapnel, but nothing big."

"I'm...glad that someone got out unscathed. Physically. Have you had to give any reports, yet?"

"Not yet. I'm sure it's coming."

"Remember, Charlie. It was my command and my decision, if it comes down to that."

"Yeah. I remember."

Sam heard Charlie stand up.

"I'm going to go check on Standford and Crespo."

"Okay."

Then, Charlie was gone and Sam was left with the knowledge that all those men he had chosen and trained were dead. So many lost lives and the sacrifice they had been willing to make had ended up being for nothing.

All for nothing.

"Commander McGee, Commander Leadore told me that you were awake."

Sam went through the motions of listening to the doctor when he told Sam what to expect. He acknowledged that he'd be transferred to the base hospital once they docked and that he'd see his family. He accepted all that, but all he could really think about was that almost his entire team had died.

And all for nothing.

Nothing else really seemed to matter.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Tim awoke with a start. It was still dark out, but when he looked at his watch, he saw that it was nearly six a.m. That was late enough. He could get out his laptop and make his way back to the shack, even in the dark. The Sun would be up soon enough, and he could work by laptop light easily enough.

...and hope he didn't step on that stupid cat.

He got out of the car, turned on his flashlight and walked over to the trunk. He quickly took out the laptop and picked his way back to the shack. Once he got inside, he ate another granola bar and drank some water. Then, he booted up the laptop so that he could start working. He went back to his dad's account and Charlie's account. He pulled them both up, side by side. He wanted to see where the accounts diverged. He believed that his dad's was the accurate one, but he knew that he had to admit to the possibility that Charlie's was right, too. He didn't like it, especially with what Charlie had said in his account. In fact, it infuriated him, but he was trying to be logical. If he showed up with this, they could simply dismiss it with the account Charlie Leadore had given. One man's word against another's.

...unless he could get the one man to tell the truth.

That would mean driving out to New Jersey and finding out if Charlie Leadore still lived there.

Tim found that he was strangely reluctant to leave here. Was finding this man the best idea? What if he _didn't_ change his story and Tim had to confront the possibility that his father really _was_ what he was accused of being? Tim had built many of his perceptions on the values his father had always espoused. Sam was loyal to his country. He was intelligent. He always followed through on promises, and he did what was right and necessary. It wasn't that he was perfect. It was that he was a good man. If Charlie's account was correct, his father was something akin to a narcissist whose self-obsession had led to the deaths of hundreds of people, including his own team.

But that couldn't be right. Tim refused to believe that his father could pretend to be something other than he was at his heart. He couldn't keep up that ruse for thirty years, and there was no way that his mother would stay with someone like that. It was just impossible.

That meant that Charlie was lying.

But maybe there was other evidence, something that would give him more support when he did confront Charlie Leadore. Perhaps, there would even be enough that he wouldn't have to have talk to him at all.

There was that correspondence he'd found before. He turned his attention to that, hoping that he'd get something more that he could hang onto and use as evidence.

Jerald R. Stidden. Why was that name so incredibly familiar to him? He felt like he should know it and that he'd kick himself when he finally figured it out.

Just as he was bringing up the material, he heard a hissing sound. He looked up (belatedly noting that the Sun had been up for a few hours already) and there was the feral cat...but it wasn't looking at him. It was looking out of the shack.

Instantly, Tim was worried. The cat had hissed at _him_ upon his arrival, but it hadn't done anything more than that since. What was it hissing at?

Quickly, he shoved a flashdrive into the USB port on the laptop and began to transfer all the files to it. Because they were all simple text, they shouldn't take long, even with how many there were. In the meantime, he grabbed his gun and crept toward the window where the cat was looking.

Had he been found?

He heard a twig snap.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Okay, Boss, we're now on our own," Tony said. "We just passed the coordinates that Abby's friend gave her. If we're going to find Tim, it's gotta be fairly close by if he's right."

Gibbs just nodded.

As they drove, he noticed a couple of cars parked just off the road. They were empty. He slowed to a stop.

"U.S. Government plates," Tony said. "Why would they be out here? ...unless..."

"Yeah."

Gibbs pulled back onto the road and drove more slowly. If Tim had found a place to hide out in here, it had to be fairly close to the road or else they would see the car he'd bought parked randomly. Surely, he wouldn't give up having some form of transportation by leaving it to possibly get towed.

"There!" Tony said, pointing.

Gibbs looked and was skeptical. It looked like a shack that had been abandoned years ago and was halfway to complete collapse. Tim wouldn't pick something like this to do computer work in... Would he?

He slowed down but drove past the shack to get them out of direct view. Then, he stopped the car, but he left the engine running.

Understanding the need for quiet, Tony got out his gun and checked it before opening his car door. They both got out and started toward the shack, wondering what, if anything, they'd find there.

As they got closer, they suddenly both felt that there was something more going on.

Gibbs stopped them both and they saw three others walking through the forest, heading for the same shack. They were focused on the shack, not on the rest of the forest that would likely be completely devoid of human life.

"They're armed, Boss," Tony said, almost inaudibly.

Gibbs nodded.

They crept forward. Gibbs' skepticism was quickly being replaced with certainty. These weren't hunters. It wasn't hunting season for many animals right now and they weren't using hunting weapons. These were military sidearms.

The question now was how directly they'd stop these guys.

Getting into a firefight in the middle of the forest in West Virginia was not exactly the best way to keep things subtle. However, if Sam was right, there might be a very real danger that Tim would be killed by these people.

Gibbs gestured and they hurried forward, moving as quietly as possible.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim caught a glimpse of movement in the trees, and it wasn't an animal...unless the Sasquatch had moved in next door and was coming to introduce itself.

He looked at his laptop and saw that the files had been transferred. He quickly pulled out the flash drive and put it on a lanyard around his neck and tucked under his shirt. That way he'd be less likely to lose it. He fished in his backpack and pulled out some cash and his wallet and shoved them in his pockets. He couldn't afford to be slowed down by a bag.

Then, it was back to the window.

Tim didn't like that they were being so quiet about their movements. That meant that they might really be willing to kill him and leave him here in the forest to be discovered at a later date. It could also mean that they were just hedging their bets and hoping that they could get close enough to subdue him and then arrest him. It wasn't like there was no justification for it.

Still, he didn't have the information he needed, or at least, he didn't _know_ if he had the information he needed. It was too early after his successful hack. Could they have traced him from that? It was possible. Tim knew that there was always potential of being seen, even when he was trying very hard not to be. But people had successfully hacked the federal government before and not been caught. So maybe they'd just got lucky. There were ways of tracking him down.

Really, it didn't matter _how_. It just mattered that he not get caught.

He crept over to the door and judged the distance between himself and the car. The keys were in it. They were in the ignition, in fact. Given the situation, Tim had felt it was better to be ready for a quick getaway than to worry about a random person coming through the forest and stealing the car.

 _Can I run and get in before they get me?_

That was the question, and if he were completely honest about it, he would have to admit that he really didn't know. There were too many unknowns to make an accurate determination. How many were out there? Was their intention to kill or capture? How close were they?

But it all boiled down to one question:

 _Am I willing to risk it and if not, am I willing to start shooting?_

Again, he wasn't sure. If they were shooting back, absolutely, but if he were just to start on his own? That was much more difficult to justify.

 _I can't just stand here and freeze. Gibbs always lectured me about second guessing myself. He can't take my badge this time since I've already given it up, but I have to make a decision._

He looked at the car again and looked out in the direction the cat had warned him about.

Then, he smiled to himself.

 _George Bernard Shaw. "In a battle, all you need to make you fight is a little hot blood and the knowledge that it's more dangerous to lose than to win."_

It was worth it to try and worth it to fight back if that became necessary. He took a deep breath and tried to push away any regret that this was all happening while he was alone.

He picked up the laptop. If worse came to worst, he could throw it as a distraction. He had all the information he needed from it, but he didn't like giving up his equipment unless it was necessary.

One more deep breath and he looked at the cat.

"I still don't like you, but thanks for warning me," he said very softly.

Another deep breath and he ran out the door, making a beeline for the car.

That was when he heard the first shots.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam lay where he was. They'd got into port and transferred him to the base hospital, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. All he could think about was the waste of life, not only of his own team but of the villagers who had likely also been killed.

He heard the door open, and he really didn't feel like having to talk to any medical people right now.

"I'm not hungry, ma'am," he said, evenly.

"Sam!"

It was a voice that seemed to penetrate through all the horror in his mind.

"Naomi," he whispered. He held out his hand, not knowing how close she was to him, and in a moment, she was there. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it, not sure if he could do anything more.

For a few minutes, it was completely silent in the room. They were just holding hands, but not in a romantic way. Sam was clinging to Naomi's hand as if he would fall if he let her go.

Then, finally, she spoke again.

"Sam, Tim is in the waiting room with Katie. I wanted to come and see how you felt before I brought him back."

To be honest, Sam felt a little ambivalent about having his son see him like this, but he couldn't deny that he'd missed his family and wanted to see...or at least _hear_ them again. He just nodded.

"Okay. I'll go get him. I love you, Sam."

"I love you," he whispered back.

Then, she was gone and he wondered if he could handle this. He'd had hard assignments before, but nothing that had ended so horribly as this one had. At the same time, though he couldn't reject the chance to have that lifeline. After a few minutes, he heard the door open and he forced a smile.

"Naomi? Is that you? The sunglasses they've given me are too thick."

He felt Naomi hug him and then kiss him gently on the forehead.

"It's me, Sam. I've been needing to hear a quote from you for weeks."

For some reason, the request for a quotation actually almost hurt. Sam didn't know why, but he really wasn't sure he could manage it. Still, for his family's sake, he tried to keep it light.

"A quote? I don't know if I can think of one. Can you give me a topic to get me started?"

Then, suddenly, he heard a soft voice. A young voice, one that was uncertain, possibly afraid.

"'But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart.'"

Sam straightened.

"Tim? Is that you taking over my job?"

"I can't remember who said it," Tim said, softly.

Sam was glad that he _could_ remember it. "Antoine de Saint-Exupery. He wrote _The Little Prince_."

"Oh."

"That's a good one, but I can't have my little boy showing me up. Let me think." Sam leaned back. "Ah, I have one. 'An eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind.' Mahatma Gandhi."

"Good, Sam," Naomi said.

"Are you going to be okay, Daddy?" Tim asked, still in that same timid voice.

Sam turned toward that voice, determined to remove the fear from his son. He had promised himself that he would never give Tim a reason to be afraid of his father, and even if this was a different kind of fear than he'd been thinking of, he wasn't going to back out on that promise.

"Absolutely, Tim. Come here."

There was a pause, but then, he felt a small hand touching his. Sam braced himself and reached down. He picked Tim up and hugged him tightly, even though it hurt a _lot_ just to have that contact. It didn't matter. All the pain was worth it when he felt his son hugging him back. And when he heard that soft voice again, he knew that he'd go through worse than this.

"I'm glad you're home, Daddy. Don't go away, again."

It was all Sam could do not to cry at the sentiment.

"I won't, son. I'm home for good."

After a few more seconds, though, Sam just couldn't tolerate what he was doing and he let Tim back down. It had worn him out and he almost fell back onto the bed, shaking a little. That had been too much.

"I think I need a nap, Naomi," he said, to hide the pain.

"Of course. We'll come and see you again, later."

"Bye, Daddy."

"Bye, Tim. I love you," Sam said.

He heard the door open and then close and he let himself feel the pain he'd hidden from his son.

Suddenly, the door opened again before he had time to collect himself.

"Commander McGee, are you all right?"

Sam couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous question.

"I know that I can't see myself, Doc, but do I _look_ like I'm all right?"

"No, but you look worse than you did the last time I came by. Is the pain worse?"

"Yes, but I know why."

"And?"

"I picked up my son and I hugged him. It was worth it."

There was a long pause. So long that Sam really wished he could see the doctor's expression. Was it understanding? Was it dismissive? Was there a resigned eyeroll? He didn't like not being able to read body language and mood.

Then, there was a light hand on his shoulder.

"Commander, do you need a stronger painkiller?"

"Not if it will keep me from thinking clearly. I'd rather have the pain."

"I'll tell you what. You give me an honest estimate of how bad the pain is and let me treat that for the next couple of days, give your body a chance to recover a little bit before you start pushing and then, I'll let you decide if you want to continue on that track or go back to trying to be macho. Deal?"

"Will it make me foggy?"

"Yes. Very likely."

Sam appreciated the honesty, even if he didn't like having to admit to the pain. Still, it felt like every part of his torso and arms was on fire and having a little bit of relief from that would be nice, even if he had to temporarily give up some of his mental acuity for it.

"Okay," he said.

"On a scale of one to ten."

"At least a nine," Sam said, honestly.

"Okay."

Within ten minutes, the physical pain was leaving him and the mental anguish was blunted by the fog of powerful painkillers.

He had to admit that having a little escape, even just temporarily, was not so bad.

It was just that he knew that it couldn't last forever.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

At first, Tim panicked a little. They were shooting at him! ...but then, he heard the telltale hissing sound that told him that they'd shot out his tires.

 _I can still drive on flats if I have to,_ Tim thought to himself.

He fired a couple of wild shots back toward the source of the gunfire, knowing he had zero chance of hitting anything, and kept on toward the car.

Until he heard a voice.

"McGee! Over here!"

It was such a shock to hear someone calling his name after having absolutely _no_ conversation for nearly two weeks that Tim actually stopped moving completely and stared toward the voice.

Tony and Gibbs. Right there in the middle of the woods outside the rundown shack he'd chosen because no one would find him here. Now, not only had Tony and Gibbs found him, but so had another group of people.

 _Am I that bad at hiding?_ Tim thought to himself. _I thought I'd be better than this._

"Come on, McGee! Run!"

Tony actually sounded a little exasperated and Tim decided that, even if he did want to stay isolated, this was not the time to worry about his ethics if he wanted to get out of here alive. And he did. He changed direction and made a beeline for Tony and Gibbs, all the while hoping that a stray shot wouldn't get either him or either of his teammates.

Gibbs gave some covering fire and then the three of them ran through the woods and got to a running car. Tim climbed into the back and Tony and Gibbs hopped in the front. Gibbs wrenched the car into gear and started driving.

"Get us out of here, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, tersely.

Tony pulled out his phone and then cursed a bit.

"We're still in the quiet zone, Boss. I don't have a signal on my phone." He pulled out an atlas and started looking through it. "Okay. It looks like this road should go on and connect up with the main highway."

"How far?"

"Ten miles."

"Okay." Gibbs sped up, clearly wanting to get out of this isolated area before Tim's pursuers could get to their own car and follow.

Tim said nothing. Right now, it seemed like his input was neither needed nor wanted. Actually, he felt more than a little awkward, and he was sure that a lecture was coming, although it would probably wait until they were in a relatively secure space.

"You want to head toward Morgantown?" Tony asked.

Gibbs just nodded.

Then, there was a tense silence. When they hit I-79, Gibbs started going north and they relaxed noticeably as they eased into the traffic around them. Sure, it was possible that their car could be spotted, but it was less likely on a busy interstate.

"I don't see anyone following us," Tony said. "For now."

"Good."

More silence.

"Something really stinks," Tony said, suddenly.

He looked back and, for just a second, seemed surprised Tim was there.

"McGee, you reek," he said.

Tim looked at himself. He had intended to change clothes, but that really hadn't happened. He had considered going to a truck stop and showering, but that hadn't happened, either. He wasn't sure how much he should explain his situation and then decided that it wasn't worth trying to make any of it clear.

"No plumbing," he said, finally.

Tony just grunted, almost like Gibbs, and turned back.

"What do you want to do, Boss?"

"Get a hotel. Cash only."

"I have plenty of cash," Tim said, hesitating to join the conversation, but deciding that he should demonstrate his willingness to help out in that regard.

Gibbs still didn't really acknowledge him, but there was another grunt from Tony.

Tim decided that he was really in for it when Gibbs was no longer driving and they could be sure of some down time. He began to consider what he was going to say and how he would say it. What would be the best approach? It really wasn't good that they were here. He was sure they'd question him and everything he was doing. Besides that, this was another delay and he found any delays, no matter how minor, to be major negatives. What would best allow him to get back to work?

The drive to Morgantown took a little less than an hour, but when they got there, Gibbs decided not to stop. They kept going north into Pennsylvania, driving for hours, stopping only once to get gas (cash only). Tim hated that he couldn't do anything. He just had to sit and wait and the more he did, the worse he felt. Gibbs and Tony spoke in low tones to each other on occasion, but it was all pretty much that same awkward silence until Gibbs started asking Tony to navigate them to a hotel.

Tim fidgeted in the back seat. There was so much to do still and he hated that he wasn't working on it! He needed to get away from his team so that he could keep following the evidence he'd found. This was too important for anything else to get in his way.

 _But I don't have a car to drive anymore. I don't have any way to get away from them. What are they going to do with me? I can't go back yet. I can't and I won't. If I have to, I'll fight them to get away. I don't want to do it, but I will._

The thoughts ran wild and crazy through his head as he felt like he was ready to explode due to the forced down time. He was still holding tightly to the laptop and to his gun. After a while, he was finally able to put the gun down, but he couldn't make himself let go of the laptop, not even when he figured that it was plenty safe to do so. After all, he still had the flash drive around his neck.

Didn't he?

For a second, Tim panicked and felt for it. The lanyard was there. He felt the end of it and the flash drive was still there. He sighed with relief. He wasn't sure he could handle it if he had lost all the work he'd done up to this point.

"Okay, Boss. Take the next exit and then turn right."

Gibbs followed Tony's instructions and, before Tim knew it, they were pulling up to a fairly nice-looking hotel. To Tim, it looked like the lap of luxury compared to where he _been_ sleeping.

Gibbs pulled up to the lobby.

"DiNozzo, stay here. McGee, give me the money you've got."

It was the first time all day that Gibbs had said anything to him, and Tim fished in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He had no idea exactly how much he'd grabbed, but given the fact that Gibbs and Tony had risked their lives for him just now, he figured it wouldn't do to try and hold any of that back. He handed the whole lot of it over. Gibbs raised an eyebrow and took it without comment. At least, he didn't _say_ anything. He didn't really need to.

Then, he slammed the car door and walked into the hotel, leaving Tim alone with Tony.

Tim wasn't sure if Tony would want to talk or not. Tim wasn't sure if _he_ wanted to talk or not. So he just let the awkward silence reign, still feeling really antsy, not ready to accept that he couldn't do any more work today.

Tony glanced back at him a couple of times, but he didn't say a word, although he did roll down the window.

Tim looked at himself again. Did he really smell _that_ badly? Surely, his impromptu shower during the rainstorm would have got him _somewhat_ clean. Right?

After a few minutes, Gibbs came out, got in the car and drove around to the back of the hotel. He gave Tony a key and got out of the car.

"McGee. Out. Tony, go get something for dinner. Don't hurry back and don't call anyone."

"Right, Boss."

Tony switched over to the driver's side while Tim got his gun and, still holding tightly to his laptop, got out of the car.

"Follow me, McGee," Gibbs said, almost coldly.

Even though Gibbs was technically not his boss anymore and Tim shouldn't have to do what he said, he couldn't help but do exactly what Gibbs said. Too many years of following orders to change now, he supposed.

They walked up the stairs, through the hallway to a slightly-nicer-than-average hotel room. There were two queen beds, a small kitchenette and a sitting area with a couch, chairs and a TV. Tim thought it looked like he'd get the most comfortable sleep he'd had in days, even if he was "punished" by sleeping on a chair or the couch. It was still better than he'd had.

Gibbs closed the door, put on the lock and turned around. For a long time, they just stood there, staring at each other. In fact, for Tim, it felt like an eternity. He had no idea just how much time passed, but it sure felt like a long time before Gibbs finally broke the silence.

"What in the world were you thinking, McGee?" he demanded. Then, he seemed to notice that Tim was still armed. "Put that thing down."

Tim chose to assume that he meant the gun, not the laptop. He still couldn't let that go, but he was willing to put down the gun, and he did so.

"Now, what were you thinking when you ran off like an idiot?"

That touched off a little bit of rebellion in Tim. Gibbs had no idea what he'd been going through the last few days and he didn't care if Gibbs was _disappointed_ in his choices or _disappointed_ that Tim, again, hadn't come to him. It was Tim's life, not Gibbs' and he had no right to question. He certainly had no right to call Tim an idiot.

All those thoughts went through Tim's mind, but he didn't say those things. Instead, he tried to be as cold as Gibbs was being. It was better that way anyway.

"I told you what I was thinking. I sent you an email, letting you know," he said and then, he steeled himself to say something that, he hoped, would infuriate his former boss. "If you can't figure it out from reading my email, then, the idiot in this room is _not_ me."

The eyebrow threatened to leap right off Gibbs' forehead at that, but Gibbs didn't respond to it directly.

"Do you have any idea what the rest of us have been through trying to find you?"

"I told you not to. That's not my fault. I only let you know because I knew you'd worry or at least some of you would."

Abruptly, Tim decided that antagonizing Gibbs might be the best way to go. If he got Gibbs angry enough, maybe he'd just wash his hands of Tim altogether and Tim could get back to work. He drew on every insecurity he'd had over the years, every frustration, every moment of doubt that anyone actually wanted him there and let it out.

"Maybe only Abby or Ducky, maybe. I figured you wouldn't listen to me but you almost never do, anyway. And you saw where I was. Whatever you were going through, I wasn't exactly living it up."

"Yeah, I can see that," Gibbs said, sounding scathing.

"Then, what does it matter what _you_ were going through? You brought that on yourselves. I brought it on myself and you don't see me complaining or blaming for _my_ choices. If you had just listened to me, it wouldn't have happened."

"And you might be dead, remember?"

"Unless the only reason they found me was because _you_ were looking," Tim shot back. "Maybe if you hadn't decided that you _always_ know better, you would have been fine, and I would still be able to do what I set out to do. As it is, you've left me in limbo, with my work unfinished. And if I don't do what I set out to do, it's a complete failure. There's no middle ground here. Forgive me if I'm not particularly grateful for that."

For a moment, Tim felt his throat tighten ominously. Tears? Now? He couldn't believe that, in the midst of this, he suddenly felt teary. There was no reason for it and there was _no_ way he'd show _that_ to Gibbs. No way.

"What about your parents?"

"I also left them a letter, telling them what I was doing and why."

"Your father doesn't appreciate it. In fact, he told me that I should tell you that he didn't want you to do this."

That stung, but Tim had expected it and he tried to put that aside.

"Of course, he _says_ that, but he doesn't want to go to prison, either."

"He has a lawyer."

"Oh, please, Boss," Tim said, unable to avoid the automatic address. "Don't pretend to be stupid. Even if you don't know anything about the case, you know that it's not about justice and it's not about who is innocent or guilty. It's about using my dad as the convenient one to blame, just like they did thirty years ago, only this time, there's no superior officer to protect him. If I don't do it, it won't happen."

"You found the files, then?"

Tim tried not to flush as he mentally kicked himself for revealing that he'd found more information. He just shrugged.

"You can't keep this up, McGee."

"I can and I will."

"For how long?"

"As long as I have to, and I'll fight you, if I have to, Boss. I know you don't have any confidence in me. I know you don't see me as strong enough to deal with it, but don't underestimate what I'm willing to do for my dad. Just because you and DiNozzo wouldn't do the same thing for _your_ dads doesn't mean that I'd be like you."

In his head, Tim winced at what he'd just said. Not only was it extremely cruel, it also very likely wasn't true but he tried to brave it out. This was for the best. Get them to give him up as a lost case, and it would be easier on everyone when the hammer came down.

"I appreciate that you guys picked me up out there, but I don't appreciate that you're probably the reason it was necessary in the first place. I cannot and I will not stop until I find what I need to make sure my dad doesn't get punished for what happened thirty years ago. I will never let that happen. Nothing else is more important than that. He's gone through enough for a lifetime already and I won't let anyone else add to it."

"Not even you?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do you think your dad will feel if _you_ go to prison? Do you think he'll be grateful for that or do you think that he'll beat himself up because he couldn't stop his son from throwing his own life away? You don't think that will add to the weight he already has? You don't think that this will be worse for him?"

Ouch. If they were both trying to wound with words, Tim didn't know if _he_ was succeeding, but Gibbs certainly _was_ succeeding.

"If you think that I'm not doing any good, then, you can let me leave and I'll keep doing what I need to do. Nothing you say is going to change my mind. I've already quit my job. You have no authority over me. You'll have to arrest me to get me to go back, and if you try, I'll fight to avoid it. I still have work to do and I'm not stopping until it's done."

Then, Tim couldn't stand there talking to Gibbs anymore. He turned around, tracked in on the bathroom and walked away before he did something that would remove the hard line he was trying to draw between himself and his former team, before he embarrassed himself by revealing how shaky he was feeling right now, before he gave in and told Gibbs how miserable he'd been and how much he'd wished he had someone with him. He couldn't let any of those things happen and they would if he was forced to keep talking. He closed the door and locked it.

Then, he sat down on the toilet and tried to get himself to put down the laptop.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam tolerated the fog of the painkillers for all of three days before he asked the doctor to back things off a bit, even if it meant he felt more pain.

The problem was that, once he could think more clearly, he could remember everything that had happened, everything that had gone wrong.

And he could realize that he wasn't being told anything about his surviving team.

"All right, Commander. It's Dr. Jones. I promised you that today would be the day we start getting your eyes back to full function. Or as close to it as we can get."

"What does that mean?" Sam asked.

"It means that, until we do some tests, we won't know for sure if the damage to your eyes is permanent. You won't be blind, if that's your worry, but there could be some blind spots, some flaws in your vision. We just can't know until we try it. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Sam said. That didn't take any thought at all. He wanted to see again. He hated this perpetual darkness, especially when he knew that, just beyond the bandages, there was light.

Dr. Jones removed the bandages and Sam sighed with relief when he realized that he could see.

"It's still pretty dark," he said, after a few seconds.

"That's because we're getting your eyes used to reacting to light again. Taking it slowly will make it better for your eyes and for you."

"Oh. Okay."

Sam looked around the room. It wasn't particularly interesting, so he focused his attention on Dr. Jones. He was a bit blurry, but visible.

"Just relax and take your time, Commander McGee. We're not rushing this, and we'll still have you wear eye protection during the night. Your eyes are very sensitive right now and we don't want you accidentally rubbing at them because you're only half awake."

"Okay."

Even though he couldn't quite read the expression on Dr. Jones' face, Sam decided to ask.

"What about my team, Doc? The last I heard was that things were really serious. No one has told me anything since then."

Even without seeing details, Sam could tell that Dr. Jones was hedging.

"Come on, Doc. These are _my_ men. This was my team. I chose each man myself. I need to know."

Dr. Jones sighed.

"I'm sorry, Commander. Both Crespo and Standford died of their injuries. Last week. Their families have already been notified and they've come to claim the bodies."

Sam couldn't hide his shock. Even though Charlie had told him how bad it was, he had never seriously considered the possibility that he and Charlie would be the only ones left. He didn't know what to say or how to react. He just sat where he was, staring.

"Commander?"

"Doc, I'd...like to be alone for a little while, if you don't mind."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Sam said.

"All right. I'll send someone in to check on you in about an hour. If you start getting renewed pain in your eyes, please call for help."

Sam just nodded.

"I'm sorry, Commander McGee," he said again.

Sam nodded again but said nothing. It was like all the words he knew had been sucked out of his brain and he couldn't even think of anything to say.

When he was alone, he sat there, trying to digest what had happened. His entire team was dead. Every one of them, with the exception of Charlie. Standford who'd had so much potential as a leader. Politz who had cared perhaps a little too much. Crespo who had joined the military as soon as his citizenship had gone through. Dillan, Archer, Larson, Flores, Austin and Greene, all gone. He had worked with them, trained them, and he had chosen them himself. Each one of those deaths was because he had chosen them all those months ago.

He closed his newly-seeing eyes as the pain that had nothing to do with his physical injuries began to grow and grow.

He didn't hear the door open, didn't realize there was someone in the room with him until he felt a hand on his arm and heard a voice.

"Sam? Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam opened his eyes and saw his wife. He reached out to her and pulled her close, not caring how much pain he might feel. Then, he closed his eyes again.

"They're dead, Naomi. My whole team is dead. All the men I chose. It's like I killed them myself."

Then, finally, Sam started to cry.

x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Gibbs watched as the door to the bathroom closed and debated whether or not he should force Tim to keep defending his actions. He had to admit that he was surprised at Tim's approach. He could tell that Tim was trying to make him mad, although he wasn't sure of the reason for it. He was surprised that Tim was trying it at all, though. The few times he'd really shot back verbally at someone had led to instant remorse. Was he feeling that now? Quite frankly, Gibbs couldn't tell, which was also a surprise.

Even more than all that was how Tim looked. He smelled bad. His clothes were stained and torn, likely beyond repair, and he just looked tired and dirty. He was worn down and that wasn't a normal look for him.

Finally, he decided that he'd let Tim stay in the bathroom for the time being. There were no windows in there. He wasn't getting out. He'd have to talk to them again, eventually.

After another hour or so, Tony arrived with pizza. Tim still hadn't emerged from the bathroom. Gibbs was deciding if he should try to get him out or not.

"Hey, Boss, I decided to stop and get some extra clothes for McGee," Tony said in a low voice when he came in. "I figured there was no reason for him to keep on what he has, and I don't think that we want to bother washing them."

Gibbs nodded and gestured to the bathroom.

Tony walked over and knocked.

"What." That was a rather sullen retort.

"I got you some clothes so that you can give the ones you're wearing to someone who might appreciate them. Like a pig or something."

There was a long pause. Then, Tim opened the door and Gibbs noticed he was still holding the laptop he'd had before.

"Thanks, Tony," he said. Then, he closed the door again.

Tony turned back.

"How long has he been in there?"

"Couple hours."

"Doing what?"

"I don't know."

"Should we leave him in there?"

"Unless you think he'll somehow break through the wall, DiNozzo, I don't think we'll have much to worry about."

Then, the shower went on.

"Good. I don't know how much longer I could stand the stink. I can't believe how bad he smelled. I wouldn't ever think that McGee would be the guy who was willing to forgo basic hygiene for any length of time. We all sharing this room?"

"Safer that way."

"Okay, then, we'll have to throw out those clothes he's been wearing. I'm not going to smell those all night long." Tony looked at the sleeping arrangements. "I'll take the pull-out couch. Let McGee have a real bed. It didn't look like there was much out there where he was. I'll bet he'd like having something comfortable to sleep on."

"Okay."

There was a period of silence. Then, Tony looked at the bathroom door and back at Gibbs.

"We've got him. What are we going to do, now, Boss?"

"See if he'll talk."

"What were you doing while I was gone?"

"Yelling at each other."

Tony's brow furrowed. "McGee was yelling at _you_?"

"Pretty close."

"That doesn't sound right. McGee doesn't yell at people in positions of authority...and he definitely doesn't yell at _you_."

"Doesn't change what he was doing," Gibbs said. He chose not to share what Tim had said, especially when he was pretty sure that Tim would feel bad about it later and possibly already felt bad about it.

"But why?"

Gibbs just shrugged.

The shower went off.

"That didn't take him long," Tony said. "Good because I'm starved. In fact..." He walked over to the bathroom door and knocked. "Hey, Probie! Hurry up in there. The pizza'll get cold!"

There was no response from the bathroom.

"Hey, Probie, you okay in there?"

Still nothing.

"If you don't answer, I'm going to break in to check on you."

Silence. Tony looked over at Gibbs who just gestured for him to get on with it if he was going to. He wasn't sure if there was any reason to be worried, but at least in this case, Tony had given Tim plenty of chances to say something.

Finally, a response.

"I'm naked, Tony. Don't come in."

There was a dull quality to Tim's voice and Tony looked at Gibbs with concern. Gibbs was surprised at how Tim sounded, too. It wasn't at all what he'd expected after having Tim yell at him. He'd expected more irritation and anger.

"Well, hurry up and I won't have to."

"I'll be out in a minute."

True to his word, Tim came out a few minutes later. His hair was damp and he had quite the scruff, and he was still holding the laptop...or else holding it again. Since he'd showered, he would have to put it down at some point, but did he really expect Gibbs or Tony to take it from him?

"About time, Probie," Tony said, trying to sound normal. "Come over and eat."

Tim nodded and walked over to the chair. He sat down and spared a hand to grab a slice of pizza. And then, Gibbs got a hint of what Tim had meant when he said that he hadn't been enjoying himself out in the woods. Tim seemed to inhale the slice and he'd eaten three before Tony had finished even one.

"Whoa. Slow down there a bit, McGee. Chewing is still a requirement," Tony said.

Gibbs also noticed that Tim wasn't making eye contact with either of them. Why not? Gibbs really couldn't figure out what was going on in Tim's head at the moment. Regardless, he let Tim eat, and Tim ended up eating about half the pizza by himself. ...but all with one hand because he still wouldn't put down the laptop.

"Filled up are you?" Tony asked when Tim finally stopped eating.

"Yeah," Tim said.

"Just what were you eating out there?"

"Granola bars, fruit snacks...water."

"That's it?"

"Had to be nonperishable so I didn't have to keep going to buy more stuff."

"But still...that's it?"

"Yeah."

"You're nuts," Tony said.

"Maybe," Tim said, but he still wouldn't look at them. "Now, what?"

"Now, we go to bed. And figure out what to do, tomorrow," Gibbs said. "And if you try to sneak out, I'm not above handcuffing you. Got it?"

"Yeah," Tim said.

"You can have the bed tonight, McGee," Tony said. "The couch doesn't look too bad."

"Thanks."

There was a strangely-dampened tone to Tim's voice. It was nothing like he'd been before and that worried Gibbs, although he wasn't sure if he should be or not. Still, they had Tim now. They knew where he was and that meant that they were one step ahead of where they'd been.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Faith decided to have a late lunch and take this to Chegwidden again. She hadn't really wanted to. It would be more comfortable for her if she could go to Cresswell, but despite his insistence that he didn't need her to protect him, he had been an excellent head of JAG and she wasn't going to change that if she could help it. Chegwidden had already retired.

She pulled up in front of his house and got out of her car. As she walked toward his front door, the door opened and who she saw drew her up short.

"Well, look who we have here. Captain Coleman, it's been a long time."

"Captain Rabb," Faith said, unsure if she was actually glad to see him or not. It still bothered her that he hadn't trusted her enough to do her job.

"Just Harm, now," he said. "I've been retired for a few years. I hear you're making life difficult for yourself."

Faith managed to hide her surprise that Harm was up to speed on her situation.

"I have others to make it difficult for me," she said.

Chegwidden came up behind Harm.

"Captain Coleman."

"Admiral, I was hoping I could talk to you for a few minutes. If you're not busy."

"See, A. J.? I'm not the only person who can't drop the title, consistently."

Chegwidden rolled his eyes good-naturedly but he gestured for her to come inside. Harm came in as well, and that didn't really make Faith feel any more comfortable, but she tried not to show it. This was business, not pleasure, and it didn't matter what else was going on.

"Have a seat, Captain," Chegwidden said.

Faith perched on the edge of a chair and waited for Harm and Chegwidden to sit down as well.

"I have a problem," she said, with no preamble. "At least one of the people behind the attempts to intimidate me is the current Secretary of Defense."

"You mean in person," Chegwidden said.

"Yes. One of the people he got to intimidate me happened to be a sailor I defended a few years ago and he told me what was going on."

" _One_ of the people?" Harm asked.

"I've had someone break into my office. I've had people follow me, always from a distance. So yes, he was _one_ of them."

"So it's true, then," Harm said.

"What's true?"

Chegwidden leaned forward. "I asked Harm to come out here to see if he could help find some more information about this case."

Faith knew that she hadn't been successful in hiding her surprise, no matter how much she'd wanted to.

"Oh." She really couldn't think of anything else to say about it.

"Don't sound so excited, Captain," Harm said, with a grin. "I didn't step on your toes at all. I just asked around to see if anyone knew about the case since it sounded like everything is being kept pretty quiet."

"And?"

"And there's been some indication that it does go as high as Secretary Stidden, but I wasn't sure how accurate that particular scuttlebutt was. It has to do with an operation in Nicaragua and it's started because of pressure from the Nicaraguan government. It's being suggested that they may even try to bring the U.S. before the ICJ."

"But the U.S. has already been before the ICJ, in a case from Nicaragua, back in 1986. Why would they expect a different outcome this time?" Faith asked. "The U.S. refused to accept the ruling and vetoed enforcement."

"I don't know. Maybe there's something about this particular case that is different enough that its coming out would be bad enough, even without ICJ punishment. Regardless, the end result that they want appears to be either your client in prison for the rest of his life or extradited to Nicaragua where he'd also be in prison for the rest of his life or executed for capital crimes."

"That's what I concluded as well," Faith said. "And Secretary Stidden was named as the instigator?"

"Not as the instigator, but that he was involved somehow."

"Well, he was the one sending a sailor to intimidate me. He just picked the wrong sailor."

Harm chuckled. "Figures. There are thousands he could choose from, and the one he picks is one who owes you."

"How do you know he owes me?"

Harm grinned. "Because, Captain, I've never seen you lose."

Faith raised an eyebrow. "Even when the client is trying his best to make me lose?"

"Even then. I did appreciate your work, though, and I _didn't_ want you to lose."

"Thank you. How long are you staying?"

"I'm actually on my way out, but if you need anything, you can definitely call. I don't like the way this looks. In fact, I'd say that it reeks of using this man as a scapegoat. That's not right, and I don't like it when good people are punished to let someone else save face. I may not be able to help, but I'll definitely try."

"I'll remember that."

Harm got up.

"Don't worry about me, A. J. I'll get to the airport by myself."

Chegwidden stood up, too, and shook Harm's hand.

"Good to see you, again, Harm. I'll let you know when I can come by."

"Do that. Nice to see you again, Captain Coleman. I'm sure that Sam McGee has a better chance with you as his lawyer."

Then, Harm left and Faith wasn't sure if she should stay or go. In the end, though, she still wanted some advice. So she sat where she was and tried not to look uncomfortable. Not very many people could make her uncomfortable. Harm was one of those people. She listened to Chegwidden as he walked Harm to the door. Then, waited until he came back.

"Captain, I wasn't sure if you'd come back here again," Chegwidden said as he sat down.

"I wasn't sure if I was going to, but I was hoping for some advice on how to proceed."

"You mean now that you know that you might be going up against the Secretary of Defense?"

"Yes. Do you know anything about him?" Faith asked. "I've never met Secretary Stidden. I just know who he is."

"I have met him. He started out in the CIA and worked his way up." Chegwidden shook his head. "He's always struck me as being one of those people who do their jobs well and don't make waves. Apparently, that was a bad assessment."

"Was he in the CIA in the eighties when this would have happened?"

"I think so. I have to admit that I don't know much of his earlier career. I just know that he was in the CIA before he was nominated as Secretary of Defense. No one had anything against him and he might have been one of the least controversial nominations for the Cabinet in a long time. For someone who has almost as much military authority as the President himself, he hasn't really put himself forward much."

"So then..."

"What should you do about it? I'm not sure, to be honest," Chegwidden said. "Does Cresswell know?"

"About Secretary Stidden? No. About the case, yes. SecNav came and questioned him about it."

Chegwidden nodded speculatively. "Indicating some push from higher up. What does Cresswell think about it?"

"Much like Captain Rabb." Although she knew that he was retired, she did not feel familiar enough with Harm to call him by his first name, even when he wasn't present.

Chegwidden appeared to be hiding a smile.

"I'm glad he's seeing it that way."

"Sir, why did you call him?"

"Because I don't like to see injustice done and I thought that you might need as much help as you could get in order to keep this man out of prison."

"It's not that I don't appreciate it. It's just that...it's unexpected."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It's hard to plan for the unexpected."

"You're a fast thinker. I think you can handle it."

Faith smiled a little.

"I know that you're going to be doing most of the work, but you have as much of a support team behind you as you're willing to accept."

Faith nodded in acceptance of the offer.

"I do have one more issue."

"What's that?"

"This one is probably not known to anyone else. Besides myself and Agent Gibbs' team."

"And?"

"Agent McGee has gone rogue to try to find evidence to clear his father's name."

"Rogue?"

"How far he's gone is unknown at this point, but he definitely indicated that there are no limits on what he's willing to do."

Chegwidden raised an eyebrow, and Faith didn't blame him for being surprised. She wouldn't have expected this of Tim, herself.

"How long has this been the case?"

"About two weeks, but I only found out about it very recently."

"Does anyone know where he is?"

"Not that they've admitted to me."

"Do you think they're lying?"

"No, but that doesn't mean that they're telling the whole truth."

Chegwidden shook his head.

"I don't know what to tell you about that. Whatever he's doing could be helpful or harmful, depending on who finds out about it and if he's successful. I'd say that you should be on your toes and ready to react no matter what the result will be."

Faith nodded. "I know Agent McGee a little bit, and this is out of character."

"Is it?" Chegwidden asked. "Most people don't step out of character, even in extreme situations. They just reveal an extreme aspect of their character. Is it _really_ out of character for him?"

Faith thought about it. There was no question that Tim was willing to do what it took to get the work done, but she'd always pegged him as a straight-laced guy, unwilling to step over the line. Maybe he was and those two values had clashed. Clearly, one had taken precedence.

"Maybe not, but I still wouldn't haven't guessed it."

"That may be why he decided to try it. Who knows? In this kind of situation, it might actually end up helping, not hindering. With everything being kept under wraps, it won't help them to admit that there's an NCIS agent trying to find out what they did thirty years ago. Now, as to Secretary Stidden, until you know why he's involved and to what extent, I would continue on as you have been. It won't do you much good to accuse people in his position until you're sure that you should. At least as long as you're able to deal with the intimidation."

"I am. Thank you, sir."

Finally, Faith stood up.

"Thank you for your time, sir."

"Always available, Captain."

Faith nodded and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Captain Coleman?"

She turned back.

"Yes, sir?"

"If it does come down to a trial and you need secondary counsel, I'm most definitely available."

Faith couldn't help but smile at the offer because of the image it conjured up in her head of the admiral playing second fiddle to her. It was rather ridiculous.

"Thank you, sir."

Then, she left, feeling better just knowing that there was all this unexpected support. At that thought, she wondered if that would help Sam as well. She couldn't see why it wouldn't.

Instead of heading back to JAG, she headed for the apartment where the McGees were staying.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

 _Thirty years ago..._

As the days went by, Sam began to recover. Physically, at least. The pain lessened as his body healed. He had discovered that he had blind spots in his peripheral vision and his doctor didn't know whether or not they'd go away. Still, he wasn't blind and that was a good thing.

But psychologically, emotionally, he began to sink. The reality of how badly the mission had gone, of knowing that, even with his determination not to destroy the village, it had been destroyed anyway. The knowledge that his team had all been killed and, for some, their bodies had been left behind because there had been no way to pull them out. He began to withdraw from the world around him into a dark abyss, sinking deeper and deeper into the quagmire. He refused to talk to anyone and refused to see his family. How could he enjoy the blessing of being home when his team would never have that again?

One of those dark days saw Sam sitting in his room, staring out at the world that would never know what had happened to the good men he had served with.

The door to his room opened.

"I'm not seeing anyone, Doc," he said, angrily. "Go away."

"No, Sam. Not this time."

Sam closed his eyes at the voice of his wife. He heard her walk over to him and sit down beside him.

"Please, Sam. Please, don't do this to me. You can't shut yourself away like this. Talk to me. Tell me what is going through your mind."

Sam sat there, his eyes closed and told himself that he would not answer. He would not speak.

Then, he felt a hand on his cheek.

"I need you, Sam. I can't lose you. I can't face this on my own."

Involuntarily, his own hand lifted and he covered her hand with his own.

"I'm so far away from you that I can't even see you anymore," he whispered.

"No. You're right here. You're with me. Here. Now."

Sam shook his head. "My body is, but I'm not."

"Then, come back."

"I can't. I'm in pieces, broken down. I don't know who I am, anymore."

"I know. Look at me, Sam."

Sam shook his head again.

"Yes. Look at me. I'm right here with you."

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at Naomi, seeing the beauty before him.

"I'm still in pieces," he whispered.

"Let me help put you back together, then," she said, with a bit of a smile, but then, she sobered. "Sam, you can't change what happened out there by refusing to live your life."

Sam felt the tears that his father would have disparaged well up in his eyes and he shook a little bit as he tried to hold them back.

"I tried so hard, Naomi," he said. "I... I tried so... hard to do it right. And I failed. I don't know what to do, anymore." And for the first time since he returning to the U.S., he reached out. "I need your help."

Naomi leaned forward and hugged him.

"You only had to ask," she said.

The tears broke free and streamed down his cheeks as he cried for the men he'd lost, for his failure to protect the innocent people who had died, for the collapse of his own sense of self. He couldn't ever tell Naomi the details, but she didn't need them. Everything had been destroyed out there and he had tried not to need anyone, but he did and there was no way he could deny it when Naomi was right there, trying to give him the help he was trying to pretend he didn't need.

The road was rocky, but he started to climb out of the emotional trough into which he'd fallen. One of the things that helped him the most was when he started allowing Tim to see him. Tim had no idea how hard things were for his dad. He just knew that he was going to be home more, that he was hurt now, but he was getting better and the only restriction seemed to be that he didn't act too wild around him. Finally, Sam was sent home to finish his recovery. He wasn't moving around much, and he was still having trouble, but Naomi could be on hand most of the time to help him.

One day, Naomi had a doctor's appointment and she needed to leave Tim somewhere. She claimed that everyone was busy and it was a weekend. So Sam needed to watch his son until she got done. He didn't really want to do that. It was one of his harder days when he didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone, and he certainly didn't want to see life going on as usual, but it had to be done.

Sam was suspicious that there was really no other option, but he allowed it, assuming that he would simply have to struggle to keep himself from snapping at his son and then being relieved when Naomi came back.

That wasn't how it happened, though.

When Naomi left, Tim was still a little nervous around his father, but he smiled and climbed onto a chair by the bed instead of running off to play on his own.

Sam was about to tell Tim that he was tired and needed a nap. He was mostly bedbound, anyway, but Tim beat him to speaking.

"Daddy, I'm going to read to you like Mommy does when I'm not feeling good. I brought a book in here for you to listen to while Mommy is busy. Okay?"

Sam wanted to say no, but he nodded, thinking that this would at least give him the chance to avoid talking.

To his surprise, Tim didn't start reading one of his school stories. The book he had wasn't a novel. It was a book of poetry.

"Whose woods these are, I think I know.  
His house is in the village, though;  
He will not see me stopping here  
To watch his woods fill up with snow."

Tim paused and looked at his father.

"I've never seen snow, except on TV. Does it fill up woods, Daddy? Can there be _that_ much?"

"Yes," Sam said, softly.

"Okay." Tim looked back down and found his place again.

Sam felt tears in his eyes, not because the poem was so touching, but Tim's earnestness in reading it was touching. He couldn't look up because he didn't know the words. He was following along with his finger, trying to get the meter right.

"My little horse must think it queer  
To stop without a farmhouse near  
Between the woods and frozen lake  
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake  
To ask if there is some mistake.  
The only other sound's the sweep  
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep."

There was a pause and Sam couldn't say anything because he was so choked up. It was all right, though, because Tim didn't look up. He just went on to another poem and started reading that. On and on, for nearly an hour. Tim just read poetry to his father. He was so focused on the words that he didn't have much inflection. In normal circumstances, it would be boring, but this wasn't boring. It was beautiful, and it was so wonderful that, even if he didn't want to cry, Sam was crying silently at the dedication his son showed in being with his father. Finally, Tim came to one that really made Sam listen. Dylan Thomas' "Do not go gentle into that good night."

"'Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,  
Because their words had forked no lightning they  
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright  
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,  
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,  
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'"

Suddenly, Tim stopped reading. There was still one more stanza. Sam knew it. He could have recited it himself because he had done so at his own father's funeral, but when Tim looked at him, there was something in his eyes that Sam couldn't quite read. Maybe it could be chalked up to his still-healing eyes. Or maybe it was just an emotion that Sam couldn't understand since it was coming from his seven-year-old son.

And Tim didn't need to read the end, either. He recited the last stanza from memory, looking right into Sam's eyes.

"'And you, my father, there on the sad height,  
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'"

"Tim?" Sam said, his voice in a whisper.

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Come here."

Tim closed the book and obediently got off the chair and walked over to the bed. Then, he climbed up so that he was right beside his father. Sam took his son in his arms and hugged him tightly. Tim hugged him back.

"Daddy, you've been so sad. Mommy said that you were hurt, but it's not just hurt. I don't want you to be sad, anymore, and I don't want you to go, anymore. Can you please stay and be happy, too?"

Sam just sat there, hugging his son. It didn't matter that Tim had interpreted the poem literally. It didn't matter that what he was saying didn't quite fit with what Dylan Thomas had meant. None of that mattered. What mattered was that his son cared about him and wanted him to get better.

"I love you, Tim."

"I love you, too, Daddy."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Sam was sitting pensively in his chair, trying to convince himself that he should just turn in early and hope that tomorrow would seem better than today had. Knowing as he did what the charges would be based on, he couldn't help but remember the pain of that time, the knowledge of so many deaths, and from a moral point of view, to some degree, he still felt responsible. And yet, he knew that, legally, he wasn't. If they wanted to accuse him on moral grounds, he wouldn't be able to fight it, but he had not pulled the trigger on any person and he had tried to prevent more deaths. So he could fight with a clear conscience, knowing that what they wanted to do was wrong.

"Sam, is there anything you need? Besides the obvious, that is."

Sam took a deep breath and looked over at Naomi. He smiled.

"Kahlil Gibran. 'Your friend is your needs answered.'"

Naomi smiled back. "I take it that's a no?"

"'A table, a chair, a bowl of fruit and a violin; what else does a man need to be happy.' Albert Einstein."

Naomi laughed out loud.

"Now, I know you're just pulling those out of thin air. I'm sorry, Sam, but that doesn't sound deep or meaningful at all."

"Everyone can have an off day on occasion. Even Einstein."

A knock on the door interrupted the teasing and Naomi walked over to answer it. She checked the peephole, first, and got a quizzical expression on her face. She opened the door.

"Captain Coleman, what brings you here at this hour? Come in."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll try not to take too much of your time."

"Have a seat," Naomi said, gesturing to the couch. Faith sat down and set her briefcase on the floor.

"Is there something wrong?" Sam asked.

"No more wrong than it was before, but I did want to tell you what I've learned, bring you up to speed. First of all, does the name Stidden mean anything to you?"

Sam looked at Naomi as she sat down and then furrowed his brow.

"No. Although it does sound somewhat familiar. Should I know about him from the mission?"

"I don't know about that, but he's currently the Secretary of Defense."

"Oh. Yes, of course. I should have remembered that name," Sam said. "But I have to admit that I'd be hard-pressed to recite the members of the Cabinet."

"Unnecessary," Faith said, almost smiling. "He is involved, at least to the degree of being the source of some of the intimidation we've experienced."

Naomi's eyes widened. "What do you mean? Why would _he_ be involved?"

"It must be something he was connected to because he has a definite personal interest, based on his behavior thus far. I was hoping that you could explain that, Dr. McGee."

"I'm sorry, Captain. I wish I could," Sam said. "But my orders came only through Admiral Jackson and, unfortunately, he died, years ago. He never told me where the orders originated...and I asked more than once."

"All right. That will have to stand, for now. Second, the charges against you are going to be insubordination and mass murder."

"That's outrageous!" Naomi burst out. "Sam would _never_!"

"I didn't say that I agreed with the charges, ma'am," Faith said. "I'm telling you what they are so that I can ask a question."

"I'm sorry. Go on."

Faith looked at Sam. "Dr. McGee, is there a reason why mass murder would be one of the charges?"

"Yes," Sam said, hating that he could still bring up memories of that time in the jungle so clearly.

"But you had nothing to do with them?"

"That's correct. In fact, when the deaths occurred, I was temporarily blinded by some kind of explosive device. I still have a few blind spots in my peripheral vision. There's no way I could have done it, even if I had wanted to...which I didn't. My entire team died. I almost died. None of us were in any shape to commit murder."

"All right. I'll proceed with that in mind. Third, I don't think you realize just how many people are behind you right now."

Sam was surprised by the statement. There was no more emotion in that than there had been in the previous statements, but the content was so different.

"Excuse me?" he asked. "How many people even know about it?"

"Not many, but those who do are on your side."

"Like who?" Naomi asked.

"Retired Admiral A J Chegwidden, formerly the head of JAG. Major General Cresswell, the current head of JAG. Retired Captain Harmon Rabb, former JAG lawyer. Captain Bud Roberts and his wife, Harriet. None of them know all the details, but they're all people who, from what they do know, are committed to helping you in whatever way they can. For some, this will merely be moral support, but I have been surprised by the aid and offers of aid I've already received. You are not in this alone, Dr. McGee. I am doing my best and that is being augmented by others who will also do their best."

"I...I don't know what to say," Sam said. "David Joseph Schwartz said that 'Success depends on the support of other people. The only hurdle between you and what you want to be is the support of other people.' I don't know if this will lead to success, but all these people...pulling for me... I don't know how say what I feel."

"Thank you," Naomi said, simply.

"You're welcome," Faith said. While it wasn't particularly warm, Sam could see that it was genuinely meant and he appreciated it.

"How dangerous will it be for these people?" Sam asked. "Too many are already in danger."

"I doubt there will be much danger at all. Some are not even in the area and others are intentionally keeping out of the way, for safety's sake. Those of us who are actively involved are ready for what that might entail. And, to some degree, the more who know, the safer we are. It's hard to silence a large number of people."

"Are you saying that I should go public with this?"

"No. Probably not because, with the Top Secret nature of the mission, you could easily be charged with treason and they could use that just as easily as anything else to get you out of the way. No, I think you're doing the right thing in keeping that secret. I know as much as I can without being read in...and a little more than I probably should, but I can see that there may be very important people who stand to lose by this coming out. We'll just have to keep on this way, and I think the charges may be coming soon."

Abruptly, Faith stood.

"I won't take any more of your time. Have a good evening, Dr. McGee, Mrs. McGee. I'll contact you when I have more questions, but if _you_ have any, you may call me anytime."

Naomi stood as well and put out her hand.

"Thank you for what you're doing, Captain."

"My pleasure, ma'am. This is the right thing to do, and I'm not breaking any laws by doing it. That makes things much easier."

Then, she genuinely smiled for the first time and left.

"She's very interesting, isn't she," Sam said.

"Very," Naomi agreed. "I'm glad she's on our side."

"So am I."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was a strange silence that dominated the hotel room as they bedded down for the night. In fact, Tony couldn't take it and turned on the TV while the others got ready for bed. He kept the volume low, but he just didn't want to deal with the strained silence. It wasn't that no one said anything. It was Tim. He had said almost nothing, and he really _hadn't_ said anything that he didn't have to say.

But Tony didn't really say anything, either. He just pulled out the sofa bed and, when the lights went out, he turned off the TV and tried to relax and go to sleep. It had been a long day and he _was_ tired. It was just that everything had changed so quickly and he wasn't sure exactly how to deal with it. Tim was now with them, just like they'd hoped, but he wasn't acting like himself.

After about an hour, all was still in the room.

...until Tony heard something. He opened his eyes and looked over. It appeared that Tim was under the covers with that laptop, working on something. Tony could just see the faint glow of the laptop screen through the covers.

He got up and started toward the bed, but then, he saw Gibbs sit up as well and shake his head.

Not wanting to reveal to Tim that they were both awake, he just widened his eyes in a silent question. Gibbs shrugged and lay back down. Tony walked back to the sofa bed and did the same. Then, he watched the lump under the covers as Tim worked.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam started getting better. It wasn't easy, but he did start getting better. He'd had to give his report, but after that, he heard nothing for months. It gave him a chance to start thinking about something other than himself. Naomi's pregnancy was proceeding normally. She was becoming cautiously hopeful that this one would happen the way they wanted it to. So far, she'd avoided anything that might tell her whether the baby was a boy or a girl because she didn't want to get attached to it and then have another miscarriage.

It was still hard getting around, and his vision wasn't quite where it should be, but Sam was starting to feel something other than pain and grief.

Then, things changed.

Sam was sitting in the living room, trying to read. He was alone while Tim was at school and Naomi was doing some shopping. He didn't like these times because it usually brought him around to thinking about what had happened. In this case, his thoughts were leading him to Charlie. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of him in a few weeks, and he wasn't sure why. In the beginning, Charlie had been there a lot, giving him support in the hospital whether he wanted it or not. Now, nothing. Sam wasn't sure if Charlie was feeling a little put out at how he'd been lectured on the mission, but Charlie would surely show up eventually.

There was a knock at the door.

Carefully, Sam stood and walked over to answer it. When he opened the door, he had to squint a little bit from the bright sunshine.

"Admiral Jackson," he said. "Sir, I'm surprised to see you here."

"May I come in, Commander McGee?"

"Of course." Sam stood back and gestured for Admiral Jackson to enter. "Please, sit down. I hope you don't mind if I sit right away. I'm still not fully recovered."

"I don't mind at all. Actually, it will be best if you're sitting for this."

"What are you talking about, sir?"

"You have a decision to make, Commander."

"About what?"

"About whether you want to leave the Navy or go to prison."

"What?" Sam asked. He couldn't have heard that correctly. "What do you mean, Admiral? Why would I be going to prison? What did I do?"

"The report of your mission doesn't match that of your second-in-command."

"In what way?"

"Commander Leadore's account states that you authorized an attack on the village, killing dozens, possibly hundreds, and that you gave the orders to have it destroyed which gave away your position, leading to the deaths of your team."

At first, Sam wanted to laugh. It was too ridiculous. There was no way that Charlie would say something like that. There was no way that he would describe the disastrous end in that way. After all, Sam himself had been blind when the village had been destroyed. He couldn't have done it, and it was _after_ his men had been killed. Charlie himself had been the one to tell him what had happened. This made absolutely no sense and Sam found he couldn't even think of anything to say.

"Commander McGee, this is incredibly serious. Only you and Commander Leadore survived. There is no one else to speak for you and they're ready to make you into their scapegoat."

"Commander Leadore said this? Are you sure?"

"I've read his account myself."

Sam felt like he'd been suckerpunched. This couldn't be happening. Charlie couldn't have done this to him. They were friends! Best friends. They'd been friends since college! How could he do this to his friend?

"This isn't possible," Sam said. "This... I can't believe this."

"Believe it. It's vital that you do and that you decide what you want to do about it."

"What _can_ I do? It's his word against mine."

"I'm working on that."

Sam squinted at Admiral Jackson. He couldn't quite read his expression.

"What do you mean you're working on it?"

"I told you that I would try to ameliorate any fallout from this mission, especially if it came down to you having to disobey orders. I assume that you did."

Sam hesitated. It was Top Secret, of course, but at this point, he felt that his only ally needed to know what had happened. Besides, it was clear that Admiral Jackson already knew some of it.

"Yes. They ordered the attack on the village because of the bunkers built beneath it. I refused because there was no way that the people wouldn't have been killed by it. Our retreat was rushed because of the ambush. A lot of my memories aren't very clear because of my injury and for the last part, I was blind."

Admiral Jackson nodded.

"What I need to know is if you're prepared to fight to stay in the Navy or if you'd be willing to get out if that saved you from the fight."

"Where's Commander Leadore, now?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since your return."

"He stabbed me in the back and then turned around and ran," Sam said. He was overwhelmed with shock and growing feeling of fury.

"It looks possible. Certainly, his account does not match yours. I can promise you that much."

"Do I have any time to think about it?"

"Yes. I'm still working on it, Commander, but I think I can pull enough strings to give you a way out. You just have to decide if you want to take it."

"What do you think will be the result if I don't? I never had really considered leaving the Navy as an option."

"If you lose, prison. Possibly for the rest of your life."

"But these were _their_ orders!"

"And they were illegal," Admiral Jackson said. "Not only unethical, but against international law and if they get called to the carpet for it, they can point to you and say that they punished the guilty party."

"Then, why would I have an out at all?"

"Because there's no guarantee that it will happen, and a case could bring unwanted attention. If they can keep it completely under wraps, then, they could let you go and get you out of sight, out of mind."

The enormity of what Charlie had done to him washed over Sam, leaving him more and more angry. He really wanted Admiral Jackson to leave so that he could react as he wanted to. As it was, right now, he had to keep his temper in check.

"I know this is a shock and completely out of the blue, but you need to know what's coming at you. By the end of the week, I'll need an answer."

Sam nodded and Admiral Jackson stood.

"I'll see myself out, Commander. Don't bother yourself to get up."

Another nod and, in a few moments, Sam was alone again. Alone with the knowledge that his best friend had betrayed him. He sat where he was without moving until he heard the front door open.

"Sam?"

He couldn't answer without sounding enraged. So he said nothing.

"Sam?"

Then, Naomi was coming toward him.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam got up and walked away from her, but Naomi wouldn't be left behind. She followed him and stepped around so that he had to look at her.

"Sam. Talk to me. What's going on?"

Sam knew he had to say something, but he wasn't sure he could keep control of himself. He knew his voice was shaking as he spoke, but it wasn't from fear. It was from anger.

"Admiral Jackson was here."

"He just...showed up here? Why?"

"To tell me that...that my best friend just stabbed me in the back."

"What are you talking about?"

Sam turned around, the anger coming closer and closer to the surface.

"When was the last time you saw Charlie?"

"I don't think I've seen him at all since you got released from the hospital. Why?"

"Because _Charlie_ has blamed everything that happened on this mission on me, and Admiral Jackson was here to tell me that my best friend is willing to put me in prison for what happened out there."

Sam turned away from Naomi and walked to the table. Then, finally, the rage came to the fore and he hit the table with his fist, as hard as he could. The amount of force really hurt, but it couldn't come even close to matching how he felt.

If Charlie had been there in front of him, Sam knew that, injured or not, it would have taken multiple people to hold him back and keep him from beating Charlie's face in.

Then, he slumped over the table, all his energy leaving him in an instant. All he could think about was that his best friend wanted to destroy him.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Tim wasn't comfortable under the covers, but he was sitting on something soft, so that was an immediate improvement. But what he needed was to work. Now that Tony and Gibbs were likely asleep and not staring at him or lecturing him, Tim figured he could make up for lost time by working through the night. He needed to get into the correspondence between Stidden and the Secretary of Defense at the time. Thankfully, he'd saved it all already because he didn't dare try to do any hacking from a hotel wifi and he didn't have his satellite hookup with him right now.

Once he opened it up, he was disappointed to see zero organization to it. It was like someone had taken every letter exchanged between these two men and dumped it without any regard for subject or date of composition. He stifled a sigh and tried to get it organized in such a way that it wouldn't take him forever to check through it.

He was surprised that there was so much. Stidden was fairly high in the ranks, but he wasn't important enough to warrant this much conversation with the Secretary of Defense.

Then, suddenly, without any warning, Tim remembered why it was that the name Stidden was so familiar to him. He kicked himself that it had taken him so long to think of it.

 _He's the current Secretary of Defense. That explains why there's been this movement on it. He was involved somehow, and now, he's abusing his position to come after my father._

That made Tim angry once again. It was bad enough that this was happening at all, but adding in that it was happening because of someone using his connections to attack a former naval officer made him furious. He wanted to scream about the injustice, but he bit his tongue and tried to suppress his anger. Instead, he kept slogging through the correspondence.

At least, he did until his computer suddenly beeped at him, telling him that the battery was almost dead.

It was a shock and Tim stared at the screen in disbelief. He wasn't done yet! Too many of the messages were still unread! Even worse, he remembered that he hadn't brought the charger with him. He had no cord to recharge the battery. This laptop was about to turn into an expensive paperweight.

"NO!" he shouted at the screen.

He dropped his head to the top of the laptop screen and felt like he'd just completely failed. He had only had this one night to get everything figured out before he was sure that Tony and Gibbs would force him to go back to DC. Now, he couldn't. What he'd found wouldn't save his father.

Failure. Complete and utter failure.

"Tim, what's wrong?"

The blanket was pulled off of him. Tim didn't bother to lift his head. What was the point in saying anything? He would have to admit to his failure, but he wasn't sure he could get any coherent words out, right now. He was too upset.

Someone put a hand on his shoulder.

"Tim, what's going on?"

It was Tony. Tim suddenly realized that he wasn't alone in the woods anymore and he'd probably woken up both Tony and Gibbs.

"Sorry for waking you up," he whispered, knowing that his voice would shake if he spoke normally. "I'll try to stay quiet."

"I wasn't asleep."

"Oh. Well, you can go to sleep, then. I won't make any more noise."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing. That's what's going on. I've lost my last chance to do anything," Tim said and all of his determination to force them to give up on him and leave him to his own devices gave way to the fear and despair he'd only barely been holding at bay for the last two weeks. "Maybe if I'm lucky, they'll let me share a prison cell with my dad."

"Hey! Tim, what are you talking about?"

"The battery's dead. I can't recharge the laptop. I didn't bring the cord with me. It's still in the trunk."

He heard the incredulous laughter and he did understand why that sounded so ridiculous, but at the same time, he couldn't think it was funny.

"We can buy you a new cord."

"What good will that do?" Tim asked, still not looking up. "I've found stuff, but nothing that will save my dad. I've thrown everything away and I still failed. Everything I wanted to be able to do my whole life and when it came down to it, I couldn't. I failed."

"Why do you think you failed?"

That was Gibbs. Tim almost straightened at his voice, but he didn't bother. After all, he no longer worked for NCIS. He didn't have that job. He wasn't on Gibbs' team. In fact, he was going to end up in prison. What was the point?

"You're going to take me back to DC, and there's nothing I've found that will help. I know what happened, now. I know whose fault this is, but I don't know who was pulling the strings. I know something, but not everything and I have nothing but my dad's word against Charlie's. I thought I could get through all the stuff I found tonight before you forced me back, but I couldn't, and now, it's late and the laptop is dead. I can't go and get a new cord now, and even if I could, I don't have a car to get anywhere. I don't have any money with me. I gave it all to you. I don't really even remember where we are. My best wasn't good enough and that means that this whole thing was for nothing."

Saying it out loud was somehow worse than when he'd been thinking it. Saying it out loud to Tony and Gibbs was infinitely worse than just thinking it, especially when he'd been telling Gibbs that he'd fight to avoid being taken back to DC only a few hours ago. He was as stupid and incompetent as Gibbs probably thought he was.

For an eternity, there was only silence in the room. The laptop shut itself down, plunging the room into nearly complete darkness. Tim just sat there, feeling the weight of every day that he'd spent in that miserable shack, feeling the weight of his looming prison time, and most of all, feeling the weight of his failure.

Then, he felt someone pull the laptop away from him. He resisted for a few seconds, but then, let it go. What good was it? It was dead. It was useless. Like him.

Then, he felt the bed shift as Tony and Gibbs both sat down near him. No one turned on a light. Tim was glad of that. He wasn't sure he could hide his devastation at this point.

"Do you really think that little of us?" Tony asked.

Tim didn't say anything.

"Do you really think that we don't care about your dad or trying to help him?"

Tim still didn't say anything.

"I know that you've been gone for the last couple of weeks and haven't seen what we've done, but we've been trying to help however we can. Gibbs got Faith Coleman to step in as his lawyer. When people started trying to intimidate us, we took that on, too. We're trying to do what we can. Why would you just assume that we'd be willing to throw all that away?"

"It doesn't matter what you're willing to do. I can't do what I wanted to do, and we all know that this trial will be a sham if it happens. It won't matter who is defending him because there won't be a leg to stand on. Do you know who is involved in this?"

"I'm assuming that it's someone other than your dad and this Charlie guy."

"Jerald R. Stidden. Only now, he goes by J. Roger Stidden, the Secretary of Defense. He was involved in this thirty years ago. I hadn't found out how deep, but he was in it. The second most powerful man in the federal government and he's one of the people involved. There's no chance of doing it honestly or legally. If he's involved, he won't let it get away from him...unless he has someone willing to reveal his role. But I can't do that because I don't know what it was and my dad's account contradicts Charlie's account. There's nothing that can be done if I can't find what I need."

"So it's all about you?" Gibbs asked, sounding derogatory.

Tim supposed he couldn't blame him for what he thought, but it didn't matter, now, anyway. He didn't have a job.

"I don't care what you think about it, Boss," he said, feeling _so_ tired of everything that was going on. "I don't work for you anymore, and as soon as I turn myself in, I won't be working for anyone. You can despise me all you want. That's what I was hoping for, initially, anyway."

"Why?"

"Because then, you wouldn't care when I was in prison."

"You're not going to prison, Tim. Neither is your dad."

"How are you going to stop it?" Tim asked. "I'm not the kind of guy who can just go on the run and hide for the rest of my life. That's not me. I have to turn myself in and I've committed federal crimes that carry penalties of 20 years in prison. I don't think they'll be disposed to mercy. That means that once we're back in DC, I'm in prison. And I deserve it, I know. I deliberately set out to break the law."

"You're not going to prison."

"If my dad does, then, it won't matter. I can't live with knowing that my dad is in prison or worse."

There was another silence.

"Tim, why are you assuming that we're going back to DC?" Gibbs asked.

"Isn't that why you were out looking for me?" Tim asked. "To drag me back there?"

"No," Tony said. "We were looking for you because we were worried about what might happen if someone else found you and we're ticked off that you decided to do all this on your own when you _knew_ that we'd help you."

"I didn't want you to help me."

"Why not?"

"Because I couldn't ask you to help me with something personal like that. It would be wrong. Why do you think I didn't tell you before I was already gone? I didn't want you to think that anything had happened to me, so I told you, but only after the fact. I wanted to stay hidden while I worked."

Talking in the dark like this was both a little disconcerting and a relief. Tim didn't want to know what Tony and Gibbs were thinking about him. Unemployed or not, he cared about that, whether he should or not.

"Well, we're helping you, now," Tony said, finally. "I don't care what you wanted. We're here and we're not ignoring the fact that someone was gunning for you."

"Not necessarily," Tim said, trying to sound unconcerned. "They just shot out my tires. I don't know if they were really trying to kill me."

"Really, McGee? You're going to pretend that there's any uncertainty?"

Tim just shrugged and didn't answer.

There was another period of silence.

"You're not going back to DC," Gibbs said.

"What?"

"You said you're not ready. Fine. You're not going back."

Now, Tim had to turn on the light. He couldn't believe what Gibbs was saying. He reached over and fumbled for the lamp. When he turned it on, he was momentarily blinded and had to blink a few times before he could turn around and face Gibbs, ready for disdain, irritation, or even a joking smile and a "gotcha!", but there was none of that. Gibbs just raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're being way too nice to me," Tim said, looking at both of them.

"Would you like us to treat you like scum, Tim?" Tony asked, smiling a little.

"I don't know. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Tony looked at him almost normally and then, grinned. He reached down, picked up a shoe and then dropped it on the floor. Tim couldn't help it. Even though he still felt like his world was about to fall apart, he couldn't help laughing at the ridiculous pun.

"Okay. That's done. Now, what?" Tony asked.

" _We_ will make a plan in the morning. Go to sleep, McGee," Gibbs said. "You're not going to make any progress tonight and you probably need it."

"You're probably right," Tim said. "I don't know if you guys aren't making any sense just because I'm running on fumes or if you're really not making sense."

"Well, if you slept as well as you ate, I'm _sure_ you need the sleep," Tony said. "And so do I."

Suiting actions to words, Tony got up and walked over to the couch. He lay down and closed his eyes. Tim shifted his gaze to Gibbs, asking the question without speaking.

"We're not taking you back until you're ready," he said.

Then, Gibbs got off the bed and walked to his own bed. He lay down and seemed to go to sleep.

Tim sat there, looking at his former teammates, wondering how things had so quickly gone from him wanting to get away from them to keep working to him being glad they were here.

He turned out the lamp and lay down on the bed. It was so soft. It was amazing how soft a hotel mattress could feel after sleeping on the floor of a shack for two weeks.

The silence descended once more.

Then...

"And you're not a failure."

Tim lay there, feeling his throat tighten dangerously. He swallowed hard.

"Thanks," he whispered. He almost said _boss_ , but he should get used to not using that since he'd quit.

Then, he tried to get to sleep.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Sam embraced the fury over Charlie's betrayal and tried to ignore the hurt that had come from it. Naomi had tried to find out where Charlie was, but he was gone. No one had seen him in days. It appeared that he'd been transferred to the East Coast, but he'd left without saying a word. Sam was infuriated anew. Charlie had betrayed him and then run away like a coward.

The anger consumed him and nearly made him forget his physical pain. Everything he did was colored with the anger as he struggled to know what to do about this latest attack. He knew that Naomi was, if it were possible, even angrier at the attack on her family, but she controlled her anger. Sam didn't. And this time, he didn't even try. He wanted to be furious. He didn't notice that Tim came home from school and hid in his room, only coming out for meals. He didn't notice that he'd started to lose contact with his son again, only this time because of emotion, not because of physical separation.

All he knew was his anger.

Until the day he knew he was going to have to make his decision.

Sam was sitting alone, staring at the photos of him and Charlie. Admiral Jackson would be needing to know what he wanted to do. Sam couldn't decide. On the one hand, he knew that he _should_ take the easy way out for the sake of his family. On the other hand, he was so enraged by what was being done to him that he wanted to shout about it and he wanted to fight them no matter what the cost. So, instead of making a decision, he was looking at pictures of the man he had thought was a friend. He picked one up and then, he tore it into pieces and threw it away. He picked another up and stared at it for a long time. Then, he tore it into pieces and threw it away.

"Sam! What are you _doing_?" Naomi asked, sounding appalled.

"I'm getting rid of him," Sam said, angrily. "I don't want to remember that I ever knew him. I don't want him in my life in any way, shape or form. I want him _gone_. Out of this house. Every piece of him."

"No. I'm mad, too, but you can't do this."

"Yes, I can," Sam retorted, tearing another picture into pieces. "I can get rid of every shred of evidence I ever knew him."

Naomi started pulling the stack of pictures away from him, but Sam resisted.

Then, there was a small voice.

"I'm s-s-sorry, Daddy. P-P-Please, don't send me away."

It was like someone had doused him in ice water, cooling his rage in an instant. Sam and Naomi both turned and there was Tim, standing in the doorway, his lower lip quivering, looking terrified at the idea that his father now hated him.

Sam felt horrible, but even with all the words in his head, he couldn't think of a single thing to say to help his son feel better. He sat there, staring at Tim, realizing all at once how poisonous his anger was becoming.

Naomi was over beside Tim in a moment.

"It wasn't you he was talking about, Tim. Your dad's been having a hard time and he's just mad at someone else. It's not you."

His now-eight-year-old son didn't seem at all comforted by Naomi's words. He was just staring at Sam.

"I was trying to stay out of the way. I saw how mad you were," he said, his voice shaking. "I didn't want you to be mad, but I forgot to put my book in my bag and it's d-due tomorrow."

He pointed at the table beside where Sam was sitting. Sam looked at the paperback sitting there. _Nate the Great and the Missing Key_. Then, he looked at Tim again. He had promised himself never to make Tim afraid and he'd broken that promise. Again. He picked up the book and held it out. Right now, he didn't feel like he could get up. His whole body was quivering with shame at what he'd been doing.

Naomi urged Tim to walk forward. After some hesitation, he did. He walked over and took the book, but Sam could see that he was still afraid.

 _My own son is afraid of me._

"I'm so sorry, Tim," he said, finally. Then, the tears he'd been trying to hold at bay welled up in his eyes and he started to cry. He closed his eyes and tried to stop the tears. He couldn't.

He felt Naomi hug him, but all he could think about was that, in addition to losing his whole team and his best friend, he was now close to losing his son. He didn't know which loss was causing most of the tears.

Then, he felt smaller arms, first trying to encircle his waist but then, winding around his neck. And there was a soft voice in his ear.

"Don't cry, Daddy. It's okay! Don't cry. I love you. You said you're sorry and that means it's okay, now. Don't cry."

Sam put his arms around his son, feeling his wife close by. Family was all he had now, and he couldn't give that up. The Navy wasn't worth it.

He knew now what his choice had to be. He could fight to stay and let the anger tear him and his family apart or he could get out and find a new life where his family could be his focus as it never really could be here.

"I love you, too, Tim," he said softly. "I love you so much. I'm sorry."

Later that day, he called Admiral Jackson and told him that he wanted out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Tony woke up and saw the light peeking around the dark curtains. He sat up on the pull-out couch and looked over where Tim was sleeping. He finally noticed that they needed to get him a razor, too. Tim was looking more than a little scruffy. He didn't grow facial hair very well. It was more patchy and scraggly than distinguished. It was like he'd been so focused on finding the stuff he wanted to find that everything, including food, hygiene, and sleep, had flown out the window. But right at this moment, Tim was completely out. In fact, his breathing was loud enough that Tony would be surprised if he didn't start snoring soon.

Then, he looked over and saw that Gibbs was already awake and dressed. Of course. He walked over to where Tony was sitting.

"What's with McGee, Boss?" Tony asked in a low voice. "He's acting so weird. It's like he doesn't know us."

"It's not that," Gibbs said. "He's afraid of his dad going to prison. It's taking over what he knows."

"But it still doesn't make any sense. It's not all about what he can do."

"He's decided it is, and he won't listen to anyone tell him anything else."

"So what do we do?"

"Work in what he's decided is reality."

"For how long? I mean, I have no idea what he's found so far, but what if it still doesn't work?"

"We'll deal with that if it happens. We're out of contact until we know how things fall out."

"We didn't tell anyone that we wouldn't be going back," Tony said.

"We told them that we were finding McGee. Abby will know why we're not coming back."

"Okay."

Tim started snoring and Tony stifled a chuckle.

"We going to wake him up?"

Gibbs actually smiled a little.

"Let him sleep."

"Okay."

Tony leaned back on the couch and prepared to wait until Tim woke up. He just hoped that Tim would start acting normally sooner rather than later because it was kind of disconcerting to have him so wound up. He had long known that Tim could be deeply affected by certain things, but this was the kind of long-term reaction that he'd never really seen. Tim just usually got over things more quickly...or else the reason for his being upset ended more quickly. Maybe it was just that, and he would have been like this for anything that he really cared about.

Suddenly, Tony found himself wanting to ask Tim more about his dad and about the relationship he had that would lead to Tim being willing to give up everything to save him. Tony knew that he cared about his own father, but they were so distant, so removed from each other's lives, would he ever really even _consider_ doing something of this magnitude? To be honest, Tony wasn't sure. His mother? Absolutely. But his father... He was glad he didn't have to, anyway.

But he also remembered Tim proudly stating that he had told his father what he did every day. That hadn't been an act. There was a deep connection there, something that Tim hadn't ever really talked about but something that had been there for a long time. Even though it seemed to have led to their current predicament, Tony could honestly say that he was a little envious of that kind of relationship. Was it the picture-perfect, storybook, usually fictional father-son relationship? Maybe, maybe not. Tony could see Tim, of all people, having that. But at the same time, there was a measure of desperation in Tim's actions, and that didn't speak to perfection. There was probably some pain, too.

Well, Tony wasn't sure if it would be a good idea to ask about Sam or not. He'd just have to play it by ear. ...like they would for all of this.

In reality, he was just glad that they were going to be operating as a team again. He didn't like it when those kinds of things changed.

And if it meant that he had to deal with Tim's snoring, so be it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Abby was sitting fretfully in her lab. There had been no sign of Gibbs and Tony returning with or without Tim in tow. She knew where they had gone to start, but since they weren't back, that meant that they'd found Tim and, for some reason, weren't coming back. Sure, she could try to track them, but at the same time, she was pretty sure that she shouldn't. She just didn't know what to do about the fact that they weren't back...and that so far as she could tell, they hadn't communicated that fact with anyone.

Actually, Abby had daringly submitted leave forms for both Tony _and_ Gibbs, in the hope of deflecting any potential questions that she was pretty sure she shouldn't answer. Would Vance be questioning her? She hoped not. Vance could be a lot more stern and she could never predict when he would be understanding or when he would choose to be cold and clinical.

"Abigail?"

"Ducky!"

Abby turned and ran at him and then hugged him tightly.

"Oh, dear. Is something wrong?"

"I don't know! Maybe."

"Does this have to do with why neither Jethro nor Anthony appear to be here this morning?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where they are?"

"I know where they were going, but I don't know where they are, and I might have lied a little to make sure that no one asked where they are, but I don't know if I could keep it up if the director asked me. I don't know if I should if he asked me, and I don't know if they're okay or if they're not!"

"Well, where were they going?"

"I found out where Tim might have been and they went to find him, too."

"Then, if they're not back, I think we can safely assume that they found him and they're staying with him until it's safe to return."

"But what do we tell people?"

Ducky smiled. "Which people, Abigail? You know that the answer will change depending on who it is asking the questions."

"Director Vance!"

"I think we can safely let him know that we don't know where they are," Ducky said with a smile.

"Oh." Abby considered that for a few seconds. "Do you think that's why they're not calling?"

"I don't know, but it would make sense to me."

"Okay. I just hate this, Ducky. Tim's been missing for more than two weeks and I need him back! I _don't_ need everyone else to disappear, too!"

"Well, I think we'll be safe enough until they come back."

"You think I'm being stupid, don't you."

"Perhaps a trifle overwrought," Ducky said. "However, given the situation, provided you don't overdo it around people who shouldn't be aware of our problems, I can handle it."

Abby hugged Ducky again.

"Thanks for being here, Ducky. You always make me feel better."

"My pleasure."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim could feel himself waking up, but he really didn't want to. It was so comfortable. It was warm. It was soft. It was quiet, but not the eerie silence of the forest. He really wanted to stay asleep and enjoy it.

...but then, he realized that he was sleeping when he could be working. When he _should_ be working.

He opened his eyes and sat up quickly, looking around in a little bit of surprise.

Oh, yeah. He _had_ left the forest. That hadn't been a dream.

"You ready to launch into orbit, McGee?"

Tim jumped and looked over. He saw Tony sitting on the couch, looking at him with a normal, questioning expression.

"Maybe. What time is it? How long did I sleep?"

"It's just after nine."

"Nine? In the _morning_?"

"Would nine at night have been better? That would have been like fifteen hours of sleep instead of eight."

Tim saw the amount of light peeking around the edges of the closed curtains and he groaned.

"Why did you let me sleep so long? There's so much to do!"

"Because you obviously needed it. If you hadn't needed it, you would have heard me putting the bed away and you would have heard Gibbs leaving about half an hour ago."

"Leaving? Where to?"

"To get some stuff. ...like a cord for your laptop."

"A cord for my..." Tim looked around. "Where's my laptop?"

"Gibbs had to take it with him. He didn't know what to ask for. Your flash drive is on the table."

Tim felt like he should be doing something, but he couldn't until Gibbs got back. He tried not to show how much that bothered him.

"You hungry?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," Tim admitted, reluctantly.

"We're going to try to keep you out of sight for now, so you can order something from the room service menu."

"That's expensive. We could just get something simple."

"It's not _that_ expensive," Tony said. "Sure, it costs more than fruit snacks, but it's fine. We'll use _your_ money for it if you're that worried."

Tim smiled a little.

"So...what are you thinking right now?"

Tim furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are you thinking about?"

"What makes you think I'm thinking anything in particular?"

Tony grinned. "Because you always are."

Tim smiled back. "I guess I am."

"So?"

"How long is it going to be until Gibbs gets back and I can start working again. That's what I'm thinking."

"So...what about your dad?"

"What do you mean?" Tim asked again, not understanding where Tony was going with this. "What about him? He's the whole reason I'm doing this."

"No, I mean...you've got a dad I don't think I've ever had. Since you can't do anything until Gibbs gets back, why don't you tell me about him? You never really talked about him much before."

"You've already met him," Tim said. "Haven't you?" He picked up the room service menu. "So did you get anything from room service? I don't really need to eat a full meal."

"You probably do, actually, especially given what you said you'd been eating for the last two weeks. Why are you changing the subject?"

"I guess if you're going to say that I need it, I'll get pancakes. That's not too much. There's coffee in the room, I'm assuming. Do you want me to order for myself or are you going to order?"

"I'll order, not that I think someone will be waiting in the kitchen to hear your dulcet tones."

Tim hoped that Tony wasn't going to pursue getting him to talk about his dad. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It was just that he didn't want to dwell on one of the few things he didn't think he could tolerate losing.

He went into the bathroom while Tony ordered his breakfast. He decided to shower again, even though he didn't really need to. It felt so good to be clean.

When he got done, he went back out into the room. His breakfast was there, but Gibbs wasn't. Tony let him eat without comment. Tim let himself be lulled into a false sense of security, thinking that the topic had gone by the wayside.

He was wrong.

"So, why don't you want to talk about your dad?" Tony asked.

"I don't know where you're getting that idea," Tim said. "How much longer is Gibbs going to be, do you think? I mean, how hard can it be to find a laptop power cord? Staples would have one and if he has the laptop with him, he'd just have to show it to them. I don't really remember where it was we stopped yesterday, but..."

Tony pointed at him accusingly. "You're doing it again! Why? And it's so clumsy, too!"

"Tony, if you can see what I'm doing, why don't you just drop it?" Tim asked.

"Because I don't get it. You apparently have an amazing dad. I've met him, and he seems great. You're putting everything on the line to save him and you don't seem to want to even think about him. Why? Because let me tell you, I don't get why you'd keep avoiding talking about him. So if you want me to drop it, you'd better tell me why I should."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out. Then, he walked over to the window and looked out into the parking lot, willing Gibbs to get back.

Nothing doing.

He sighed.

"Because, more than anything else in my entire life, the thing that scares me most is losing him. This would be the third time Dad could die. The first time was thirty years ago. The second time when I almost killed him. And now...the people from before are trying to take him away again. You just don't understand how it feels to watch him almost vanish time after time," Tim said softly.

There was a long silence, and Tim found himself talking to fill it.

"When I was younger, it didn't really register. I don't know how many other missions there were, but the last one was bad. I let the rest of my life kind of...cover it up and I just didn't think about it as I was growing up. But thinking back, now, I can remember how mad Dad got. How sad he was, and how lost I felt, seeing him act the way he did and not knowing how to help him. And then...after he was paralyzed and I saw him getting ready to commit suicide because he was lost again and I didn't know what to do to save him. And now, this time, I finally _know_ what I have to do to save him and all I want is to succeed this time. I'm not eight years old, watching my dad break down crying and not understanding why. I'm not sixteen, seeing how black his outlook had become and knowing that if he chose to go through with it, I couldn't do anything. I'm an adult and I have the skills to save him from what's happening and anything is worth it. Any sacrifice. Any loss on my part. _Anything_ is worth it if it keeps him from paying that price."

Tim stopped and took a few breaths.

"And talking about all the happy memories terrifies me because I'm afraid of not having any more of them."

He was still staring out the window...or rather staring at his own reflection in the window. He remembered how people had told him how much he was like his dad and it had always made him so proud to be compared to Sam McGee. He was always so happy to be like his father.

Then, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Tim, if that's what you want, then, I won't ask you about him."

"Thanks," Tim said softly.

" _But_ once this is all over, I expect full disclosure."

Tim smiled a little and was able to turn around and face Tony head on.

"I'll remember that."

Then, the door to the room opened and Gibbs came in with Tim's laptop and a cord.

"Okay, McGee. You can get to work," he said.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

 _Thirty years ago..._

Deciding to get out of the Navy didn't mean that it was easy to actually do it. As Sam slowly recovered from his injuries, Admiral Jackson fulfilled his promise. Sam was allowed to leave and no charges were filed against him. The problem was deciding what to do. He had thought about it before, but it was now reality, not just an idea.

Sam tried to keep all of it to himself, but soon, they'd have to move off base. No one was rushing him out, but he wasn't sure how long that magnanimity would last. It was best to get moving on it, but at the same time, he wasn't really happy about it. He'd lived on bases more than any other place in his lifetime, from childhood through adulthood. Even though they had been located all over the country, he'd always had a place on a base. The idea of leaving that was not something he wanted.

One day, while Tim was at school and Naomi was shopping, Sam ventured outside for about the first time since his return. He sat on the front steps and looked at the base houses all around him. This was the type of neighborhood he was used to. Glamorous, it was not. Large, it was not. But he loved it.

 _I love this life. How can I leave it?_

"Sam!"

Sam looked over and managed to smile.

"Hi, Todd."

"Mind if I join you?"

"No."

Todd walked over and sat down beside him.

"I haven't seen you really at all since you got back. You're still looking pretty rough."

"It was a close call," Sam said.

"I can tell."

"And I'm leaving the Navy."

"What? Why?"

"Partly, because I lost some of my vision on the mission. Not so that a normal job would be affected, but here, I'd be stuck riding a desk for the rest of my career, and I can't do that, not after being so active."

"I understand. I'd have a hard time with that, too. But you said that's only part?"

"Yeah."

"So is the other part to do with where you were?"

"Yeah."

"Then, I won't ask. What are you going to do, instead?"

Now, Sam _could_ smile a little.

"I've been thinking of going to grad school. Getting my doctorate. I'm a little old for it, but..."

"No, you're not. You going to teach?"

"Probably."

Todd grinned. "You know what? I've never met an officer I thought might make a good teacher before...but I think you might buck that trend. I can totally see you being the prof that all the kids like."

"Or hate."

Todd laughed. "Or hate. But you've got all those words in your head. You're way more articulate than most sailors. Did you ever consider it before?"

"Not really. I'm a Navy man. It's in my blood. But it's my second...or third love."

Todd's smile because sympathetic.

"You don't really want to leave, do you."

Sam shook his head.

"Isn't there some way of getting around all this?"

"No. Not really. Anything I tried would be too hard on my family. Naomi's followed me everywhere I went without complaint, but it's been really rough on her."

"Yeah. She told Katie and me that she was expecting. How's it going?"

"Good, so far."

"So when will you leave?"

Sam smiled. "When I have somewhere to go. I have to pick out a school, apply, get accepted. They're not rushing me. Not yet, anyway. I'm glad because I'd rather not have to uproot us all until Naomi has the baby. I don't want anything to go wrong with it. The more stress, the harder it will be."

"Well, when you guys leave, you'd better write to us, give us your address, tell us everything. We don't want to lose contact. We might end up that way, but we don't want to start that way. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Sam said.

"We'll miss you," Todd said, finally.

"We'll miss you, too. And I'll miss all this. More than I can say."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

There was a knock on the door and Faith looked up.

"Come in."

The door opened, revealing Bud. He walked in, closed the door behind him and then sat down across from her.

"How's it going?" he asked.

Faith smiled. "It's been going. Captain Rabb was in town. Did you know that?"

"What? He never said a word!" Bud shook his head in irritation. "He'll be hearing about _that_ from me. Would it have killed him to stop by and say hello? What was he here for?"

"By invitation from Admiral Chegwidden."

"For what reason?"

"To see what he could find out about this case."

"And?"

"And he confirmed that Secretary Stidden is involved."

Bud's eyes widened.

"Secretary Stidden? The Secretary of Defense Stidden? How are you going to deal with that?"

Faith laughed a little. "I have no idea, but very carefully, regardless of what else I do."

"Yeah, I'd say so."

"But Chegwidden has offered to be my secondary counsel, should I need him."

"A.J. as secondary counsel? That seems a little..."

"Strange. Yes, I agree."

"But wow. When you first told me about the case, I felt like it was probably a losing battle, but hearing about this, I feel like it's more likely a losing battle on their side."

"That may be a bit strong, but I'm feeling better about it, myself."

"When do you think that the charges will be filed officially?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure what they're waiting for at this point." Then, it hit her all at once and she started to think aloud. "Actually, I think I do. Until they're sure, and that means finding Agent McGee. Once they have him in custody or else out of the way, then, they can. He's the variable they can't predict and that's what's stopping them right now."

"What? Why Agent McGee?"

"I'd better not discuss that, but I think I'm understanding more what the timetable might be."

"I hope you're still being careful."

"I am. They haven't yet tried to come into my home, but at least for the next few weeks, they'd get a surprise if they did."

Faith almost hoped that they _would_ try it. She was quite certain that Anubis would give them a run for their money.

Bud got up.

"Well, if you ever feel like an escape, you know you can come over."

"Thank you. I'll remember that."

Bud nodded as if he knew she wouldn't be taking him up on it and then left. Faith really did appreciate the offer, but she preferred to stay focused on the case _and_ it would be more likely that someone would take note of Bud and Harriet as possible participants. She didn't want them to be involved like that.

But _after_ all this, she might very well drop by the Roberts home.

Or take a vacation somewhere far away from DC and all its politics.

For now, however, it was back to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was thrilled beyond measure at being able to work again after the temporary despair of the night before. It took a lot for him not to rip the cord and laptop out of Gibbs' hands and just start working.

He tried to act normally, though. When Gibbs held them out, he took them and settled on the bed, plugged in the laptop and dove back into the correspondence he'd found. It wasn't a fast process and he completely tuned out both Gibbs and Tony. It was easy to do after so many days of trying _not_ to get sucked in. Now, at least, he could let himself do exactly what he wanted.

Tony and Gibbs were not only tuned out. They were forgotten as Tim searched for something that would give him the support he needed to save his father.

What he found was interesting. It started with a simple letter from the Secretary of Defense to Stidden.

 _The actions of the Sandanistas is unacceptable. We need to send a definite message to them that, sanctioned or not, we will take action to prevent their interference in El Salvador. Current reconnaissance has revealed small military units taking up positions near the border. It is very likely that they will use these positions for incursions into El Salvador, causing more instability. As the CIA liaison, I will expect a list of recommendations for team leads within the week._

That led him to Stidden's reply. It was a list of names with Sam McGee at the very top of it. Interestingly enough, while Charlie Leadore's name was also on the list, it was well down in a group listed as possible seconds but not team leads. There was no comment on any of them, but there was a small paragraph at the bottom.

 _While Commander McGee has the best experience, he is also somewhat of a wild card and choosing him should be done cautiously. His skills and leadership ability are definitely the best on the list. Admiral Jackson has given him numerous commendations for his service._

The correspondence didn't happen regularly but was off and on throughout the months that Sam would have been preparing. Finally, Tim found something about what was happening.

 _Commander Leadore has reported that Commander McGee is refusing to carry out his orders and has threatened to make the trek back to the US on his own if necessary. This is no empty statement. He can and will do just that if we try to abandon them out there. I am requesting freedom in resolving this situation._

There was nothing about what that might entail and Tim was sure it was because it was going to be unethical and Stidden hadn't wanted to commit it to writing. He continued to search, and he found one more message.

 _Commander Leadore will follow orders. With your permission I'm having him transferred to DC until all is settled. Admiral Jackson may not accept it, however. We will have to proceed cautiously, given the nature of Commander McGee's injuries. Pushing too soon will leave him open to too much sympathy._

Tim found himself grinding his teeth at the callous words. He continued to read.

 _Admiral Jackson refuses to back down. While I recognize the danger inherent in doing so, we will have to accept his suggestion and allow Commander McGee to simply resign. That will be contingent upon his maintaining the Top Secret classification. Any sign of his revealing information related to the operation, and we can terminate the agreement. The end goal is the same. We can hope that we don't have to address this ever again. It never happened._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was watching Tim as he worked, feeling a little worried. Tim didn't even seem to know they were there. He'd seen Tim focused on the computer before, but this was a level beyond it. It was like there was nothing in the world except for what he was reading.

"I don't know, Boss. I don't like this," he said.

There was no reaction from Tim.

"You're not going to change his mind, right now. Nothing will. We'll just have to be here."

"I'm afraid of what might happen if it doesn't turn out like he wants."

Gibbs looked at Tim as he moved from file to file. There was a temptation to hover over his shoulder and see what he was doing, but at the same time, not only would Tim not want them to, it wasn't exactly the easiest thing to follow if Tim was moving quickly through information. So, instead, they were waiting and watching.

"The more we know about this, the harder it seems like it'll be to stop," Tony said. "What if the worst does happen?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not assuming the worst, Boss," Tony said. "I'm just worried about Tim. I don't think _he_ knows what he'll do if all this he's trying fails. I mean, think about it, he nearly had a meltdown last night just because his battery died."

Suddenly, Tim swore loudly and closed the laptop lid with a heavy hand. He didn't turn around to face them. He just sat where he was, staring at the laptop.

"Hey, McGee. What's up?"

Tim jumped, as if he hadn't realized they were there. Then, he turned around. There was a combination of being very upset and very determined that Tony could see. He took a breath.

"I need to go to New Jersey. As soon as possible. Before they figure out that I know about Charlie Leadore and know who he is...and what he did to my dad," Tim said, his voice becoming thick with anger for a moment, but then, he mastered himself. "You said you aren't taking me back. Will you take me there? If not, will you let me get there on my own?"

"What do you need to do?" Gibbs asked.

"Get him to tell the truth that he didn't tell thirty years ago. Right now, it's his word against my dad's. From what I've found, he was given orders to lie about the mission and place all the blame on my dad. He did that, and that's the only evidence they have. If he takes it back and tells the real story, then, no matter what they do, they can't blame my father for what happened and whatever is causing this trial won't have even one leg to stand on. Stidden is trying to get out of being blamed for it because he was the CIA liaison back then. I need to talk to Charlie Leadore as soon as I can get there."

"And what if he won't take it back?" Tony asked.

"He will."

"What if he doesn't, McGee?" Gibbs asked. "What then?"

"I don't know," Tim admitted. "But he and my dad were friends thirty years ago. Maybe he'll remember that and feel guilty. I want him to. In fact, I hope he's been miserable all this time after what he did. And I'll never know what he will or won't do if I don't go and confront him."

"Are you sure that he's in New Jersey?"

"No," Tim said and actually smiled a little. "I haven't had the chance to check on that, but it's a small town. If he lived there for any length of time, someone will remember him, even if he moved." Then, he looked at Gibbs again. "Are you going to let me go or force me to stay here?"

Tony noticed that he didn't mention the possibility of going back to DC. That was okay because Gibbs had already promised that he wasn't going back there until he was ready, but still, his focus really was on his dad and saving him. Anything else was completely useless.

"When do you want to leave?" Gibbs asked.

"Now," Tim said, without any hesitation.

"Okay. Let's go."


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

 _Thirty years ago..._

"Is Mommy okay?" Tim asked, in a small voice.

Sam was happy to be able to smile.

"Yes. She's very okay."

"Then, why is she in the hospital? You weren't okay when you were in the hospital."

Sam stopped and knelt down. Tim was looking at him with wide eyes. Sam regretted that his son had any reason to be worried like this, but Tim hadn't been able to let go of his own worries. As a child, he just didn't understand the nuances of Sam's situation, but this was a happy occasion and he didn't want Tim thinking of it any other way.

"Tim, remember that we told you Mom was going to have a baby? Remember how you felt her in your mom's stomach?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she had the baby while you were at school. You have a little sister."

Tim's brow furrowed as he processed that information.

"What's her name?"

"Sarah. Do you approve?" Sam asked, smiling.

He had to keep from laughing as Tim appeared to give very serious consideration about whether or not he liked the name they had chosen for their daughter.

"Does it mean something?"

"Yes. Princess."

Finally, Tim smiled.

"Can I see her?"

"That's what we're doing. We're going to see your mother and your new sister."

"Okay."

Satisfied that Tim's worries had been addressed for now, Sam stood up and let Tim hold his hand as they walked to the maternity ward. He had made sure Naomi was ready for Tim to visit before bringing him here. The labor and delivery had been hard on her and the doctor was already saying that this needed to be their last. She had almost made it to eight months, but labor had started very suddenly, almost right after Tim had gone to school, and progressed past the point of no return and then almost stopped, leaving her with only the pain and no further progression, just the contractions. Sam had actually been afraid of something going horribly wrong right at the last minute. The intensity of her pain had scared him. If it had taken any longer, the doctors had been ready to do a C-section. But finally, Sarah had come of her own accord and, while small, she was very healthy...and hairy. Tim had been almost bald when he had been born. Sarah had come with a mane of dark hair.

When they got to the room, Sam knocked softly on the door and then walked in. Naomi still looked weak from the delivery, but she smiled and let Tim hug her tightly.

"Are you okay, Mommy?" he asked.

"I'm tired, Tim, but I'm okay. They should be bringing Sarah in soon. Are you ready to see her?"

"Okay."

After a couple of minutes, a nurse wheeled in the bassinet. Sam smiled when he saw his daughter. Tim was on his tip toes, trying to see her. He hadn't really started growing much yet. The nurse picked Sarah up and handed her to Naomi. Then, she withdrew to give them time together. Naomi gestured for Sam to take the baby. He leaned over and carefully held her. She was so very tiny, but she was perfect. Sam sat down on a chair by the bed so that Tim could see.

"What do you think, Tim?"

"She's so small."

"She was born a little early," Naomi said. "So she didn't get to grow as much, but the doctor said that she's just fine, just a little smaller than some."

"She looks like a doll," Tim said.

His expression was more uncertain than anything else. It didn't help that he'd been an only child for eight years. They had tried to prepare him for how things might change, but how did you really explain to a child that things will be different but still good, even if he might no longer have his parents' undivided attention?

"Do you want to hold her, Tim?" Sam asked.

"Can I?"

"Of course. You just have to be really careful and make sure that you support her head. Right now, Sarah can't do anything for herself. She's a baby and we need to protect her and feed her and do everything until she gets bigger," Naomi said.

Sam carefully stood up and let Tim take his place on the chair. Tim climbed up and then copied Sam's arm position and took Sarah in his arms. He looked at her for a long time in silence, and the uncertainty changed to something else. He leaned over and whispered something, but Sam couldn't hear it. He looked at Naomi and saw her smiling tiredly.

"Okay, Tim. It's time to go. Your mother needs to get some sleep."

Sam bent over to take Sarah and put her back in the bassinet.

"Bye," Tim whispered to her and patted her very gently on the head.

Then, Tim went to Naomi and hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.

"You're really okay?" he asked.

"Yes, Tim. I'm just fine. I am tired, though. Your father will bring you back here again tomorrow. Okay?"

"Okay. I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, Tim."

Sam leaned over and kissed Naomi as well.

"Will you be all right here alone?" he asked in a very low voice. "I can call Todd and Katie. They'd take him tonight."

She shook her head.

"No. Tim needs you more than I do. I'll have a lot of attention here. Just come back in the morning."

"Will do. Good night."

"Good night."

Then, Sam took Tim's hand and led him back into the hall.

"How long will Mommy stay here?"

"Another day or two. No more than that. Then, we'll all be together again. All four of us."

Tim nodded, but he held Sam's hand very tightly all the way out to the car. He was quiet on the drive home. When they walked into the house, Sam was surprised at how empty it felt without Naomi's presence. It wasn't like she was always there, but she was most of the time and he would feel strange sleeping in their bed alone. The only time they'd slept apart was when he was on missions.

He sent Tim into his room to get ready for bed and he changed as well. Then, he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Come in, Tim."

Tim came in.

"Daddy...can I sleep with you, tonight?"

Sam saw that Tim was holding his teddy bear. He looked frightened.

"Tim, come over here."

Sam sat down on the bed and patted the space beside him. Tim walked over and climbed up. Sam put an arm around his son.

"Are you scared?"

Tim nodded.

"Why?"

"Because."

Sam smiled a little. "Because why?"

"Will Mommy be sad like you?"

"No. No, she won't, Tim," Sam said. "What happened to me is very different. She had a baby and everything was fine."

"She didn't...look fine," Tim said and there was an ominous quiver of his lower lip.

"I promise, Tim. Your mother is just tired. Having a baby is a hard thing, but it happens a lot. Every day. It's not something you need to be afraid of. But do you know what?"

"What?"

Sam leaned over.

"When you were born, I was a little scared."

"You were? Why?"

"Because it was my first time and I didn't know what to expect. But you were born and you were just fine, too. Your mom had to stay in the hospital for a couple of days but then, she came home and you came home, too. That's what will happen with Sarah. She and your mom will come home in a couple of days. I promise."

Tim nodded and he was quiet for a few seconds. Then, he looked up.

"Can I still sleep in here with you?"

Sam smiled again.

"Yes. You can. Now, go brush your teeth."

Tim smiled and set his teddy bear down. Sam listened as his son got ready, secure in the comfort he'd get from being with his dad.

If only all things were so simple.

In a few more weeks, they would be moving away from San Diego, away from the Navy, and Sam would be plunging into a whole new world. He'd been accepted into grad school and he was going to face a steep learning curve in dealing exclusively with civilians for almost the first time in his life. Even in college, he'd had the NROTC to keep him connected to the Navy. ...and Charlie... He pushed that thought away. He'd had the Navy before, but not now.

Not anymore.

Tim came running back into the room. He climbed onto the bed and snuggled down beside his father. Sam watched as his eyes closed and he easily went to sleep.

Strangely enough, he found it easier to sleep with Tim there, too.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Vance was sitting at his desk. He had been asked repeatedly where his agent had gone, and he was relieved that he could honestly say that he had no idea. However, he was also worried that his complicity would be discovered. He also had covered the fact that he'd noticed the absence of his entire MCRT and that he knew what they were likely doing, more or less. It did help his conscience that his sympathy lay entirely with Tim and not with the people pressuring him.

Up to this point, he hadn't done anything beyond look the other way and it had been enough, but the pressure was mounting and he'd have to take a stand. He wasn't looking forward to it. Maybe it was time to prepare for the eventuality.

He picked up his phone.

"Ms. Long, could you please make arrangements for Agent McGee's parents to come here and meet with me at their earliest convenience?"

" _For what reason?"_

"To discuss their son. If they ask, just let them know that I'll give them the details when they arrive."

" _Yes, Director."_

Vance hung up and sat back. With all the responsibilities he had on a regular basis, this had been occupying far too much of his mind. And yet, he knew almost nothing of the details. Whatever else, he knew that inviting the McGees here would likely be seen and reported. It would give people an opening to demanding to know what his intentions were. He wouldn't volunteer the information, but he would be honest if asked directly.

His phone rang.

"Yes?"

" _Director, the McGees will be coming this afternoon, about 1400 hours and you have a call from Major General Cresswell."_

"From JAG? What for?" Vance asked, more than a little surprised. He had very few reasons to speak with Cresswell. Both of them trusted their people to do what was necessary when their paths crossed.

" _He didn't say, sir."_

"Do I have time?" Vance asked, unsure if he wanted the answer to be positive or negative.

" _Yes, you do."_

"All right. Put him through."

There was a click.

" _Director Vance."_

"General Cresswell. What can I do for you?"

" _How much do you know about Dr. Sam McGee's case? And please don't try to pretend you know nothing about it. Plausible deniability isn't very plausible at this point. I already know that Agent Gibbs is the one who got Captain Coleman to take the case."_

"You're right to the point."

" _I need to be."_

Vance decided to be as blunt as Cresswell.

"Up to now, I've known as little as I could, although I'm sure that will be changing soon enough. I'm meeting with the McGees in a few hours."

" _I'd like to speak to you about this in person."_

"It might be a good idea. I should have time after my meeting with the McGees at 1400 hours."

There was a pause.

" _I'll let you know, but I think it'll have to be later than that for me."_

"Ms. Long can tell you when I'm available."

" _I'll get back to you."_

Cresswell hung up, leaving Vance to consider what would have spurred him to call. Could anyone have guessed how big this was getting? Could the people who started it have known how well-connected Sam McGee would prove to be? They might be regretting it, now. He hoped they were. If so, they could be more easily persuaded to give up.

Unless it was personal.

That he didn't know. He would just have to wait until he could find out more.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The closer they got to New Jersey, the more eager Tim became. He leaned forward from the back seat of the car, watching the GPS, wanting to urge Gibbs to drive faster, to find the man that could be the way to save his father from prison or worse.

"McGee, I feel like you're breathing down my neck," Tony said. "Lean back, okay? The car isn't that big and that means I'll only beat you there by a fraction of a second."

Tim laughed a little self-consciously.

"Sorry."

Tony looked back at him, and Tim was surprised to see understanding in his eyes. He didn't even say anything. He just looked for a moment and then turned forward again.

Tim forced himself to lean back. He tried to relax.

But he couldn't. This could, potentially, mean so much. He had to know what would happen.

Then, he saw the sign coming up.

"There!" he said, pointing.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

 _Thirty years ago..._

The squeaky cry seemed to reverberate throughout the apartment. Both Sam and Naomi groaned.

"Whose turn is it?" Naomi asked.

"I don't remember," Sam said. "I have an early class."

"I have work."

"Work is later than my class."

"Rock, paper, scissors," Naomi said.

Sam reached over and turned on a lamp. They both blinked in the sudden light while Sarah's cry continued.

Silently, they shook their fists.

Sam played rock. Naomi played paper.

"You always win," he grumbled.

"You always do rock when you're tired," she said. "It's like you forget to move your hand."

Sam grimaced and turned off the light again.

"Go back to sleep. Maybe you'll give Sarah a good example to follow."

Naomi laughed and then rolled over while Sam got out of bed. He walked out of the bedroom and into the nursery where his two-month-old daughter was crying. He picked her up and felt the wet diaper. Grimacing, he walked over to the table, got a diaper, the wipes and then proceeded to try to remove that negative stimulus. He had to change her pajamas, too.

When he finished, he picked her up again and began to walk back and forth, patting her gently on the back, trying to get her to calm down enough to go back to sleep.

"Dad? What's wrong?"

Sam looked over toward the door and saw Tim standing there.

"It's all right, Tim. Sarah just had a leaky diaper. You can go back to bed. I'm going to get her calmed down, give her a bottle and get her back to sleep."

"Can I hold her while you get the bottle?"

"Are you sure, Tim?"

Tim nodded.

"Okay. Sit down on the rocking chair and remember that you don't try to get up while you're holding her. If you need my help, just call out."

Tim nodded and climbed onto the rocker. Carefully, Sam handed Sarah over. She was still fussy, and Sam was surprised that Tim wanted to hold her. He hadn't done much with her up to this point. Of course, Tim was also a bit out of sorts from the move. He hadn't adjusted to the different location as well as they'd hoped he would. The friends he'd had, almost by default, on the base had not been replaced at the school he was attending now. Sam also knew that they'd have to move once he finished and he wasn't sure he should urge Tim to make more friends that he'd just have to leave.

As he prepared the bottle, he realized that he couldn't hear Sarah anymore. Had Tim calmed her down? It seemed so.

He finished and walked back to the nursery. When he got there, he heard Tim talking.

"...and I'll never let anyone hurt you," Tim said quietly. "No matter what. I'm your big brother and it's my job to protect you. No matter what."

Sam stood where he was for a few minutes while Tim earnestly told his sister that she was safe with him. Sam had never seen this protective nature in Tim before his return from the mission. It was as if Tim had decided that he had to make sure no one felt like he'd seen his father feel. Sam still regretted that he'd been unable to hide his emotional upheaval from his son. Even now, he'd had times when the whole sorry mess seemed to press down on him, threatening to smother him with its intensity. It was just that now he was able to hide it. His physical injuries and the freshness of the pain had made that impossible before.

"Tim?"

Tim looked up and smiled. Right now, he had a few gaps where his baby teeth had fallen out and his adult teeth were growing in.

"She stopped crying."

"That's because she knows you love her."

"Does she? She doesn't understand me," he said.

Sam walked over and touched Sarah's tiny hand with his finger. Her hand curled around it.

"She doesn't need to understand words. She needs to feel it, and she does."

"Even though I get mad when she cries a lot?"

"Even then. Now, you have school in the morning. So you need to get to bed. I'll feed her."

"You have school, too, Dad."

"Yes, I do, but my school is different and you need your sleep." He carefully took Sarah back. "Go on."

"Okay."

Sam settled on the rocker and fed Sarah her bottle. By the time he finished, she was sated and sleeping. He did burp her before he put her back in the crib, but he sat for a while, just rocking her. She was so small, so helpless. So innocent.

For a moment, he was back in the jungle, knowing that the children he'd seen playing had been killed by his government. He tensed and felt tears in his eyes. This wonderful blessing he had now had been stolen from who knew how many. It tore at his heart to know it.

Sarah stirred in reaction and Sam tried to relax, tried to push those feelings away. It was the past and nothing he could do would change it.

Another few minutes and he put Sarah back in her crib. Then, he returned to the bedroom and climbed into bed. Naomi was asleep, but he pulled her to him and hugged her, needing to have her close to him. She awakened enough to roll over and hold him. She never asked. She just knew.

"I love you," he whispered into the silence.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

"What do you think this is about, Sam?" Naomi asked.

"I don't know, but if it's about Tim...I've never met Director Vance. I only know what Tim has told us before."

As they headed for Vance's office, Sam couldn't help but wonder what in the world was going on. Surely, by this time, Vance knew all about Tim's situation, but he hadn't ever made any attempt to contact them.

Until now.

When they reached the office, a woman smiled at them.

"Hello, I'm Pamela Long, Director Vance's assistant. You must be Dr. And Mrs. McGee."

"Yes," Naomi said.

"Good. Just let me see if he's ready for you. Have a seat."

Naomi sat down and Sam rolled over beside her while Pamela picked up her phone.

"Director Vance, the McGees are here."

She paused and listened and then smiled at them again.

"Of course, sir." She hung up. "He asked that you give him a couple of minutes."

"Of course," Sam said.

They sat awkwardly for a few minutes and then the door opened and they got their first look at Director Vance.

"Dr. McGee. Mrs. McGee," he said, formally.

"Yes, Director Vance.

"Please, come in. I'm sorry for the delay."

"That's not a problem," Sam said.

They went into the office. Vance gestured for Naomi to sit. At the table while he pulled a chair out of the way for Sam to be beside her. Then, he sat down.

"I'm guessing that you're wondering why I've invited you here."

"Yes, a little bit, although I'm assuming that it's about Tim," Sam said.

"It's also about you, Dr. McGee."

"Yes, but that's not an NCIS matter. Is it?"

Vance smiled for the first time.

"It wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for your son. Once he chose to go off the grid, he pulled us in. There's no way to avoid it. Gibbs won't accept it, and that means that NCIS is involved, even just peripherally."

There was another silence; then, Sam chanced a smile himself.

"Am I supposed to apologize for that?" he asked.

To his relief, Vance chuckled.

"No. From all I can see, this is an attempt to make you into a scapegoat. I hope that whoever started this is regretting it because we're making this as difficult as we can."

"We?"

"Well, I'll admit that I'm not doing much. However, I do have a few questions for you."

"If I can answer them," Sam said.

Vance nodded.

"First. Do you know where your son is?"

"No," Sam said, glad he could be honest about it.

"He didn't want us to know where he was going," Naomi said. "If he even knew at the time he wrote the letter he left for us."

"And you've not heard from him since?"

"Not once."

"Okay. Second. Dr. McGee, I know that everyone on Agent McGee's side is assuming your innocence, but I hope that you appreciate my position, given that I'm being told repeatedly of your guilt. I know your son fairly well and I've never had any cause doubt his integrity. However, I don't know you beyond what I've gleaned in the last couple of weeks. That means I have to ask. Are you guilty?"

"No," Sam said. "Not of what they're accusing me of. Not a day goes by that I don't regret the deaths of my team, but nothing I did led to their deaths besides the fact that I chose them for that mission. Perhaps, there's something I could have done to better protect them, but those are the kinds of regrets that have little to do with reality and more to do with grief. And the other part I share _no_ guilt at all. I'm furious that they would even suggest that I was to blame."

"For what?"

"It's still Top Secret, Director. I've never spoken of it to anyone who wasn't already a part of it. Not even Naomi knows. And Captain Coleman did suggest that I'd be better served by keeping that secret than I would by violating the restrictions placed on me thirty years ago."

Vance just nodded. "Understood. Third. Is there anything I can do to help you? Up to this point. I have simply been staying out of the way, allowing my MCRT to do what they feel is necessary. I have not even attempted to get involved. However, the pressure is starting to mount and I'm going to _have_ to get involved. I'm not sure they'll be extremely understanding, but I am going to be one more layer of protection. Is there anything you need beyond what you're already getting?"

Sam looked at Naomi and she smiled a little and nodded. She knew what he was thinking and she understood it. He leaned forward earnestly.

"Director Vance, there is one thing, but it's not for me."

Vance's brow furrowed.

"My son has thrown away his life for me. I hate that he's done it. I hate that he would do it over and over again if he thought it was necessary. He's never been able to stop worrying about me, in part because of what he witnessed during the first weeks I was home. I don't want my son to suffer because he feels a misplaced need to save me. So my question is this: Can you make sure that my son doesn't go to prison and can come back to his job when this is over?"

Vance leaned back and looked at them both, his expression unreadable.

"That's all?"

"Yes. I have an excellent lawyer. Agent Gibbs and his team have been very helpful. I've been told that there are many other people on my side. I welcome every bit of support I can get, but I have plenty. If it's possible to get out of this, I know I will because of who is here, fighting for me. George Bernard Shaw said that the 'whole secret of successful fighting [is to] get your enemy at a disadvantage; and never, on any account, fight him on equal terms.' As far as my situation goes, I'm as close to that as I can be. Tim isn't. He needs someone to fight for him and keep him from paying that price. I know he's willing to pay it, but I'm not willing to let him. Not now. Not ever. He's my son and I can't let him sacrifice his life for mine."

Still inscrutable, Vance nodded. "I make no promises, but I hear what you want and I understand it."

"Thank you, Director."

Vance smiled. "My pleasure."

"I'm sorry that we're making your job more difficult."

"Oh, you're not. The people who started this whole mess are making my life difficult. And, no offense, but your son has not made my job any easier."

Naomi smiled a little. "I think we _can_ take the blame for that one. He sees the world in black and white. If something is wrong, it's wrong and must be made right."

"Then, I will blame you for that. ...and credit you for it, as well. I have seen the lengths to which Agent McGee will go in the past. That he's been willing to go this far in this situation is something I should have anticipated. I just didn't."

"I think that's what we've all thought," Sam said. "I've seen Tim's worries, but I thought we'd managed to calm him enough. We were wrong."

"Director Vance, may I ask you a question?" Naomi asked.

"Yes."

"Why did you ask us here? While I appreciate what you've told us and that you had questions, these could have been done quickly over the phone."

Vance finally grinned. "Because, Mrs. McGee, I am very firmly placing myself on your husband's side. I'm almost certain that your visit will be noted and reported. I'm just waiting now to be asked what I was thinking. What I hope is that the person in charge will show his hand."

Sam smiled in return.

"I appreciate that, Director."

Then, a thought occurred to him. Faith had mentioned someone involved in this. Did Vance not know?

"Captain Coleman mentioned Secretary Stidden as one involved."

Vance's eyes widened, just slightly. "Really."

"Yes."

"That's interesting. I'll have to take that into account. Thank you for telling me."

"My pleasure."

"And if you need anything that NCIS can help with, please, don't hesitate to ask. If it needs to be official, then, I will be involved. For now, if you have nothing else, then, I'll start waiting for irate phone calls."

Sam and Naomi both smiled at that description of his day. They took their leave and headed out of NCIS, feeling better about their situation. Not having anything else to do at the moment, they decided to head back. When they got there, Naomi sat down on the couch.

"Well?" she asked.

Sam rolled over to her and stroked her cheek gently.

"I'm glad you're here," he said.

She covered his hand with her own.

"So am I."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The house was small, unassuming. It looked lived in, but not by a lot of people. It was nestled in amongst the trees. No near neighbors. Tim looked at it as Gibbs slowed to a stop.

"This is it?"

"It's the address that I found. I need to go in there alone," Tim said.

"Why?" Tony asked.

"Because I need to be able to talk to him freely, and I don't know if he will when there are other people there. Remember that this whole thing is Top Secret."

"Well, you're not supposed to know it, either, you know," Tony said.

"But I do, and I _have_ to ask the questions. I just think that the fewer witnesses the better in this case. Please."

Tim watched as Tony and Gibbs exchanged significant looks, but this time, Tim was being completely honest. He really didn't think that Charlie would talk to strangers. Tim was sure Charlie wouldn't remember him, but when he knew...

"Give him your phone, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You call us."

Tim nodded. "I will. I promise."

Tony handed him his phone. "You break it, you bought it."

Tim smiled. "Understood."

Then, he got out of the car and walked toward the front door. He glanced back and saw Gibbs drive away. He was sure that he wouldn't go far, but Tim was glad that Gibbs was trusting him a little bit.

He walked up the stairs and then hesitated. What would Charlie be like after thirty years? What had he been like before? Had the friendship been a sham? If it had been real, why had he given it up? Had he been threatened? He had volunteered? Was he just scum?

All the questions could be answered just by knocking on the door.

 _I have to do this. It's the only way._

He knocked.


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

 _Thirty years ago..._

There was more than one moment when Sam felt he was never going to make it through his dissertation. It was strange when he thought about it. He'd gone through things no one in his cohort had ever experienced. He'd faced down death on more than one occasion.

...and writing a paper was throwing him into paroxysms of anxiety.

Then, there was a thump and a wail.

He groaned and came out of the small office where he worked. Sarah had been fine just five minutes ago. Tim had promised to watch her while Naomi was still at work.

"Tim, what happened?"

He came into the living room and saw Tim frantically trying to calm Sarah down. He could see, instantly, that Sarah wasn't seriously hurt. She'd probably just fallen down hard and been a little surprised by it, but Tim looked afraid and that was probably contributing to Sarah's distress. She was being told that she _should_ be upset.

"We were just playing!" Tim said. "She tripped!"

Sam forced himself to smile and he knelt down beside Sarah.

"Don't worry. She's all right." He picked Sarah up and balanced her on his knee. "You're just fine, Sarah. Don't worry. It's okay."

Sarah continued to fret for a few more seconds and then she calmed down. Sam made a face at her and she laughed.

"All right?" he asked.

She nodded. She wasn't talking much, although she _could_. She just didn't think it was necessary. He set her down and Sarah toddled over to her toys and began throwing blocks around happily.

Sam looked at Tim and he was still upset. Sam gestured for him to come over.

"What's wrong, Tim?"

"She fell down and cried."

"Yeah. That happens. That's how she learns to walk better. You don't _push_ her down, but if she falls and learns that it's okay to fall and get back up, she gets better at it."

"I was watching her. I promise!"

Sam hugged Tim.

"Don't worry so much, Tim. She wasn't really hurt. She was probably just surprised. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Sarah won't be mad at you, either. Go and play with her."

"I'm sorry," Tim said. "You're working."

"You don't have to be. It's okay. Are you all right, now?"

Tim nodded.

Suddenly, Sarah toddled back over and began pulling on Tim's hand.

"Tim! Tim!"

"Go play, Tim."

The crisis passed, Tim went over to where Sarah's toys had exploded out of the toy chest and began building a tower out of dominos for her to destroy. Sam watched for a few seconds and then went back to his office and sat down.

Would that his own problems were so easy to solve.

Still, he hated that Tim was so worried. He was going to be nine soon, and he shouldn't be worrying. Not much left to do. He just needed to get through this and then, he had to find a job and they could find a stable place to settle. No more moving and Tim could just relax and enjoy being a kid.

Against his will, his mind went back to the jungle again. He stared blankly at his typewriter. He just couldn't get rid of those moments. They kept happening and when he thought of it, he automatically went to Charlie's betrayal as well. His own anger was starting to ebb, but he'd noticed that Naomi's had seemed to increase with the time away.

He didn't get any work done for quite a while. He just stared at the piece of paper in the typewriter.

After a while, he felt someone tugging at his arm.

"Daddy. Daddy, please?"

Sam was startled and he jumped and then looked down and saw Tim looking up at him, worriedly. He forced a smile.

"I'm sorry, Tim. What did you say?"

Tim looked down.

"Nothing."

"Tim. What is it?"

"Mom's home. You said we could go to the park, but it's okay."

Sam shook his head.

"You're right. I did say that, and I could use some time out of this room. Let's go."

"Really?"

The smile was genuine this time.

"Yes. Let's go. We haven't had an adventure together in a long time."

He was rewarded by a smile, the worry fading away, leaving a happy child in its wake.

"Go ask your mother how much time she wants to wait until dinner."

Tim nodded and excitedly and ran off, calling out to Naomi to please let him go and play with his dad for a long time.

Sam looked at his typewriter once more. No more work today. He hadn't made much progress, but he had to balance Tim's needs with his work on his dissertation. Tim needed some of his time today. As important as it was to get it done, no one's life depended on it.

He got up and left the office and saw Naomi smiling at Tim's excitement. He walked over to her.

"I know you've had a long day. I can still make dinner," he said.

Naomi shook her head.

"No. This is more important. I'll make dinner while you're having your adventure. Just be back in an hour. ...and make dinner tomorrow."

Sam smiled and kissed her on the cheek. "It's a deal."

"Come on, Dad! Let's go!" Tim said.

There was none of the worry or fear that Tim sometimes _still_ showed about whether or not his father was okay. He was just happy, and Sam wanted to encourage that as much as he could.

They ran out the door together, down the stairs and over to the park across the street.

They spent their hour-long adventure on the playground. Tim declared that the jungle gym was a rocket. He climbed to the top to start the engines. Sam didn't bother asking why the place to start the engines was at the very top of the rocket. He just went along with it. They rode the rocket ship to strange worlds. Every time they landed, Tim would explain what the world was like in great detail.

"It's all water, Dad! You can't step there. Only it's different water. It's red! And it's hot. You have to be careful and use your space suit to keep you from drownding. Look! Alien pirates! We have to get on their ship."

"It's dark here. There's not any sun. The sun is always on the other side so it's always night. We have to have strong flashlights to keep the monsters away. They can see in the dark, but light hurts their eyes. We have to be careful. There's a monster! Shine your light in his eyes, Dad!"

On and on it went for the full hour. Sam was astounded at how many details Tim thought up for the planets they landed on. One of the planets was made entirely out of candy and Tim went into great detail about what each piece of landscape was made of, from the saltwater taffy wheels to the jelly bean plants. He hated to end it. He found Tim's imagination almost as fascinating as Tim did. But dinner would be ready soon.

"Okay, Astronaut McGee, it's time to fly back home. It's almost dinnertime."

"Ah!" Tim whined.

"Nope. Let's get back in the ship and go home. Do you remember the way?" he asked.

"What if I don't?" Tim asked, almost slyly.

Sam grinned. "Then, _I'll_ pilot the ship."

"You can't do that! I'm the captain!"

To prove it, he ran back to the jungle gym and climbed up to the top to start the engines.

They flew back to Earth and had dinner.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Tim waited for a few seconds and started wondering what he'd do if no one was home or if he had the address wrong.

Then, the door opened and he was staring at a man about the same age as his father. He was tall and still looked like he was in good shape, although his hair was thinning on top. His brow furrowed.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

Tim marveled for a moment at how normal he seemed. Somehow, he'd started to construct an image of a stereotypical evil villain in his head. Instead, what he was getting was a man in the later years of middle age, dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. If he had passed him on the street, Tim knew he'd never have looked twice at him, but he could still see the look of his dad's friend from the photo of the two of them thirty years ago.

"You're Charlie Leadore?"

"Yes. Who are you?" He seemed a bit wary.

"My name is Tim McGee."

Charlie's eyes widened.

"Tim. Wow. Now that you say it, I can see it. The last time I saw you...you were only about seven years old. You've changed a _lot_. What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you. Can I come inside?"

"Of course."

Charlie stood back and let Tim inside. Tim walked in and looked around. The house was small and unassuming. It didn't look like Charlie had ever married. He had a few pictures, but it actually reminded Tim a lot of Gibbs' house. There was definitely only a single man living here.

"Have a seat," Charlie said. "I have to admit that I'm surprised to see you. Why are you here?"

Tim sat down and leaned forward.

"I need you to tell the truth."

"About what?"

"About the lie you told thirty years ago."

Charlie's expression closed off. He stood and turned away.

"That was a long time ago, Tim. There's no need to get into that again."

"Yes, there is! You lied! You almost destroyed my father's life! And now, they're trying to do it again!"

Charlie turned back.

"What do you mean? Who?"

"I don't know everyone, but Secretary Stidden is at least one of them, I think."

"Jerald?"

"Yes."

"Why? Why would this be coming up thirty years later?"

"Because they're trying to make my dad into a scapegoat," Tim said. "They're blaming him for what happened in Nicaragua...and the evidence they have is you! You're going to send my dad to prison unless you tell the truth."

"Hey, wait a minute," Charlie said, looking irritated. "I'm not doing anything. No one has ever talked to me about this since it happened. I certainly didn't ask them to."

"But you wrote the report."

"No, I didn't. I only signed it."

"That's the same thing!" Tim said. "Don't you care that my dad is going to be punished for something he didn't do? Does that mean nothing to you? I read my dad's report. I read your report. It's a case of one against the other. There's no one else. Everyone else who was there is dead!"

"How in the world do you even know about all this? You were seven when your dad came back. By the time you were old enough to understand it all, you would have been in high school or college. I know Sam left the Navy and I'm positive he would never tell you about it."

"He left the Navy because of you," Tim said, pointedly.

"No."

"Yes. And I know about it because I've thrown everything away in my life just to find out the truth. I gave up my job. I'll probably have to go to prison myself. I've separated myself from most of my friends. I broke the law and hacked into the Department of Defense because I knew that there was no way to get the truth from anyone involved. I'm willing to do all of that to save my father. All I'm asking of you is that you tell the truth! I didn't see any sign that you were to blame, either. Why would you lie?"

Charlie looked away for a few seconds and then he came back to the chair and sat down.

"You sound so much like your dad. Even if you didn't have the look of him, I'd know you were his son by your voice and by how you talk. Sam was always so idealistic. I was more practical. I had to watch my back because I didn't have a family to do it for me like your dad."

"Dad would have."

"I know, but that's not the same."

"And who's watching your back now?" Tim asked, knowing he sounded derisive.

"No one," Charlie said, shrugging. "My lot hasn't changed much."

"Then, what do you have to lose?" Tim demanded. "If you're still alone. If you have nothing, then, what are you worried about?"

Charlie smiled, but it wasn't because he found this humorous.

"I don't want to go to prison, either."

"But you didn't do anything wrong."

"It doesn't matter when things are happening at this level, Tim. If you're aware of the operation, then, you know that when the people involved are so well-connected, anything can happen if you make them mad."

"What kind of a hold do they have over you? Why did you lie in the first place?"

"They said that it wouldn't lead to anything but your dad leaving the Navy," Charlie said. "He was going to have to do that anyway. His eyes didn't heal quite right and he'd never have been allowed back in the field again. I could see the writing on the wall, even when he couldn't."

"You had no right to make that decision for him," Tim said.

"You're right. I didn't, but I did it anyway."

"And you betrayed your friend. Dad couldn't believe that you would do that to him. I still remember the day I saw him so mad that he was ripping up photographs. Then, before I knew it, he was crying. I was seven years old, Charlie," Tim said. "All I knew was that my dad was mad at someone and hurt. I didn't understand it all, but you nearly destroyed him. It wasn't painless. It wasn't simple. It wasn't anything good. My dad was torn apart. If you made yourself believe that it wouldn't affect him, let me disabuse you of that idea. It affected him. More than I can say. It affected him. It affected me. It affected my mom. We all suffered because of what _you_ did."

Charlie stood up and walked away from Tim, to the window. He stared out at the trees.

"Please," Tim said. "Tell me what happened. How did they get you to betray your best friend?"

For a long moment, Charlie said nothing, and Tim was afraid that he'd end up getting nothing from him. He also couldn't believe that he felt pity for him. Not enough to let him off for what he did, but a little bit.

Finally, Charlie sighed. He didn't turn away from the window.

"It wasn't something I planned on doing. If you've been imagining that I was planning to lie about what happened out there, you've got it all wrong. Sam and I had been friends a long time. I always thought I was on the right side of things. I was horrified when I realized what they were about to do. They picked us up, and I thought that we were finally clear, that maybe something good came out of it. That lasted for...all of ten seconds. Your dad doesn't remember it all, and he couldn't see for a lot of it. I could." Charlie turned back. " _I_ watched that bomb go off. I watched Flores and Politz get torn apart by shrapnel. I saw them take out Dillan and Archer and I was there when Standford died of his injuries in the hospital. I had to tell his family that he was dead. I was the only one who didn't get hurt out there, and it wasn't because I wasn't doing my part. It was just the luck of the draw. I can still see all that and hear it as if it happened yesterday. And then, when we took off, I'm the one who watched when they dropped those bombs onto that village. We were too far up for me to see exactly what happened, but they died. I don't know how many, but all those people Sam risked his career to save ended up dead because of someone in the government deciding that collateral damage was acceptable. I saw all that. So if you're here to blame any of it on me, don't bother. I didn't ask for it and I didn't want it to happen."

Tim could hear the same kind of pain and regret he'd heard from his dad on occasion. He could see that it was real.

"If you went through all that yourself, why capitulate?"

"Because I didn't have anyone to speak for me," Charlie said. "Your dad was barely coherent when they came to me and said that I'd be the fall guy if Sam wasn't. I didn't know if your dad was going to make it at that point. I thought my friend might die, but even in the best case scenario, he wasn't going to be there. What I could see was that I had two choices: let them take me down or let them pin the blame on Sam who was going to have to leave the Navy anyway. I didn't know he was going to be told about it. I don't even know _who_ told him. It certainly wasn't me."

"If so, why did you transfer?" Tim asked.

"I didn't choose it, but I accepted it." Charlie shook his head. "Because, whether he lived or not, I knew what I'd done was wrong and I couldn't look your mother in the eye."

"She wouldn't have let you. She'd have punched you out herself."

Charlie nodded. "I would have deserved it. I fully admit it. I was thinking of myself and how to keep myself safe. I didn't know how dirty I'd feel for doing it. I was transferred to DC. I'd never been there before, and I was working under Jerald... Secretary Stidden, for a few months, but I couldn't stick with it. I asked for an honorable discharge and they gave it to me. Then, they gave me a _bonus_ for my work. I accepted it for a while, but I couldn't deal with it. It felt like blood money and I cut that off within the first year."

"And you moved here," Tim said.

"Yeah. Never been here before. I didn't really have any family left so it didn't matter where I went. No one to care. Came here, found this little house. Made a few friends. Never really left."

"Bottom line?" Tim asked.

Charlie walked over and sat down. "Bottom line is that they came to me, told me to sign my name or it would be me going to prison to cover their tracks. I did what I was told." He laughed humorlessly and then grimaced. "Orders."

"Who gave you the orders?"

"They came from Jerald, although I didn't know that initially. Where _he_ got his orders from, I don't know. But at first, it was someone else. I don't know who he was. He passed along the messages, and then, after I signed the report, Jerald came to me in person and said I was being transferred."

"What did you do in DC?"

"Very little, actually. Mostly, I felt like Jerald wanted me there to keep his eye on me. I don't think they trusted me to keep my mouth shut. They just didn't know me like your dad did. He always said that I needed to take a stand instead of trying to figure out what everyone _wanted_ me to do. I never did. Not once."

Charlie shook his head and stared at the floor for a few seconds. Then, he looked up.

"So now, what are you expecting?"

"I want you to come back to DC and tell what you know."

"To who?"

For a moment, Tim wasn't sure. There was no trial just yet, at least, not to his knowledge...but then, his mind hit upon something that Tony and Gibbs had told him.

"To my dad's lawyer. She'll need to know and she can get the message to the people who need to hear it. I don't know everything about what's going on, but I do know that they've just been assuming that they can run roughshod over my dad and I'm not letting that happen."

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"And how far are you going to go to do that?"

"I've already gone farther than I think I can get out of. Doesn't really matter at this point how much further I'll go."

"How far do you think _they'll_ go?"

"I don't know. They've already shot at me."

Charlie took a deep breath. "I don't know about this, Tim. I'm not ready to get gunned down."

"I need you to help my dad," Tim said. "Without you there to take back what you agreed to before, it's your word against his. Look, my dad has already faced dying twice. He can't go through it again and I can't see it again. Neither can my mom. We've gone through too much."

"Twice?"

Tim nodded. "He was paralyzed in a car accident when I was sixteen. It nearly killed him, but then...he almost killed himself because of it. I can't face a third time, Charlie. Please, if you never do any other thing to help another person in your life, can't this be the one time?"

"Sam's paralyzed?" Charlie asked. He looked horrified.

"Yes. He's been in a wheelchair for the last twenty years."

"They're coming after him when he's in a wheelchair?"

"It wouldn't be any better if he was walking," Tim said. "It would still be wrong."

Charlie got up and faced away from him again.

"I have to think about this," he said. "I can't give you an answer, not right now."

"And how long will it take you to think?"

"I don't know, but you know where I am now. You can always come back again. For now, I have nothing else to say."

Tim wanted to force Charlie to listen to him. He wanted to scream at him. He wanted to physically drag him back to DC and make him talk.

But he didn't. He just sighed and nodded. He got up and walked to the door. He opened it, figuring that he'd call Gibbs from the road.

Then, as he looked toward the road, he saw a glint of metal.

"Get down!"


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

 _Twenty-eight years ago..._

"So Tim, what did you do today?" Sam asked.

Tim looked up from his plate.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You didn't go to school?" Sam asked, with a smile.

"I went to school."

"What happened at school?"

"I learned."

Sarah started throwing her mashed potatoes on the floor which distracted them from Sam's question.

"Sarah, keep your food on your plate," Naomi said.

"Mash! Mash!" Sarah said, happily.

"They're already mashed," Sam said. "Just eat."

"Daddy, are you happy?" Tim suddenly asked.

Sam looked away from Sarah and at Tim in surprise.

"Yes."

"But I heard you yesterday. You weren't happy then."

"When did you hear me?"

"At night. I woke up."

Sam sighed. He'd had a nightmare going back to his last mission that had awakened both himself and Naomi. He'd hoped that Tim had slept through it.

Alas.

"Tim, I'm very happy, but sometimes, I have bad dreams. It's just like when you have bad dreams and you wake up sad."

"Dads can have bad dreams, too?" Tim asked.

"Yes. I promise that I'm happy, now. I wasn't before, when I was in the hospital, but I'm happy now. I wouldn't trade being with you and your mother and Sarah for anything in the world."

"Even if you could go back to the Navy?"

Sam smiled, even as he wondered what had made Tim think about the Navy making him happy. He hadn't really even mentioned it. Certainly, not when Tim had been around.

"Even then. I'm almost done with my dissertation and then, I'll get a job and we'll have to move one more time. I'm very happy with my life now."

"Okay."

"So, now, you can tell me what you did today."

Tim looked at him hesitantly.

"Really, Tim. I want to know, and it makes me happy to hear about it."

"It does?"

"Yes. Very much."

Finally, Tim smiled and started to talk about everything he had learned in school, how much he loved his science teacher and how much he hated PE and that the playground at the school was so cool because it had a big slide attached to a jungle gym and that he never got on the swings because there was always a line during lunch recess.

Sam let him talk, even though it slowed down his eating dinner. He looked at Naomi and saw her understanding smile. He was slowly getting away from the nightmares, but he couldn't quite put it all behind him, yet. The longer he was away from the Navy, the easier it was. In fact, the longer he was away from the Navy, the happier he was. He hadn't been lying about not wanting to go back. He was beginning to realize that his time in the Navy had been one long source of stress that had never quite gone away. He still loved the Navy, but he was now seeing how much happier he was without it. He was almost glad that his father had died and not lived to know that his son wasn't regretting leaving the military.

After Tim finished eating, Sam started to clean up the table while Naomi took Sarah back to give her a bath (and clean the mashed potatoes out of her hair). Tim helped carry the plates to the sink, being very careful about not dropping them. Sam also had him put the leftovers into the fridge. When it was all finished, they spent some time sitting together, playing Clue. Tim had seen it in the store and been fascinated by the game. He was entertaining to watch play because he took it all so seriously. He would take detailed notes about his cards and he spent a lot of time trying to plan. He didn't have the knowhow yet to do it well, but he really wanted to.

Finally, it was bedtime and Tim dragged his feet in going, but soon enough, he was tucked away in bed. Sarah was sleeping already. Then, Sam sat down on the couch and sighed, letting himself regret Tim's continuing worries about his well-being. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes.

Naomi came and sat down beside him. He looked over at her.

"He'll get over it, Sam," she said.

"When? It's already been more than a year. I don't want to ruin my son's childhood with my problems."

"You're not," Naomi said. "Can't you see how much Tim loves spending time with you? Yes, he still has those moments where he worries about you, but he's so happy to have you here with him. I have to admit that, sometimes, I'm a little jealous of how much Tim wants to be with you."

"Jealous?"

"Yes, but don't worry about it because I love watching you two. It's something I've wanted for you and for Tim. Just tell me one thing, Sam."

"What?"

"Were you being honest?"

Sam knew what she meant and he nodded. "Yes. I was. The farther away it is, the better I feel about it."

Naomi leaned against him.

"I'm glad, Sam. I can't think about Charlie without wanting to kill him, but... but I feel like you're so much more relaxed right now, even with the stress of finishing your dissertation."

Sam smiled.

"I feel the same way."

"Good. Then, I'll keep working until you finish, but you'd better be ready to get a job because I'm not keeping this up any longer than I have to."

Sam kissed her.

"I'm already looking."

They sat together for about an hour and then went to bed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Charlie grabbed Tim by the shoulder, yanked him back into the house, closed and locked the door and they both dropped to the floor as bullets broke through the window.

"Are they shooting at me or at you?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know. They've already shown that they didn't care about whether or not _I_ survive. How valuable do you think _you_ are?"

Charlie looked at him with surprise. It was clear he hadn't really thought about it. If it had been thirty years since he was involved, maybe it was enough to forget about it in daily life.

"So maybe both of us," he said.

"I think it's a possibility."

"Okay. I had a feeling this wasn't going to be a good day."

"Do you have a car?"

"Yes. Do you want to risk running out in the open to get to it, though?" Charlie asked. "I don't have a garage."

"I'm ready to try it. Better than letting them just come running in here. I don't have a gun. Do you?"

"Yes."

Charlie crawled over to a sideboard and pulled out a Colt 1911. Then, he pointed to another door.

"This is the closest to my car. There aren't any steps, though. I'm in the process of replacing the deck. You'll have to jump down."

"Keys?"

"They're in it."

"Hopefully."

"You prepared to drive?" Charlie asked.

"Yes."

"Ready?"

Tim crawled over beside him.

"Ready."

He got up and pulled open the door. It was almost as if they'd planned it. Charlie jumped out of the house, ready to lay down covering fire if necessary. Tim ran for the car and climbed into the driver's seat. The keys were in a cup holder near the floor. He grabbed them and shoved the key into the ignition while Charlie ran around to the passenger side.

The car started and Tim was almost peeling out before he had it in gear. They zoomed around the house and toward the road. Two men dove out of the way and a third got off a few more shots at them before Tim reached the road and floored it away from Charlie's house. There was no one coming behind them. Tim wasn't sure if that meant they'd given up for the moment or if they were simply being sneakier than Tim thought they could.

Neither of them were speaking. After driving three or four miles, Tim calmed enough to pull out Tony's phone and dial. Before he could actually make the call, Charlie let out a loud exhale and he sat up, looking behind them.

"I don't know whether to thank you for getting me out of there or blame you for them showing up there in the first place," Charlie said, finally.

"To be honest, I don't know which one is the right reaction, either, but if they were able to track me down, finding you was probably pretty easy, especially since you haven't left here in thirty years. I doubt that I'm the reason they know where you are."

"True." Charlie swore feelingly. "All this time. I did what they wanted me to do and I've minded my own business. Suddenly, I'm being dragged back into it long after it should have been over."

"That's how Dad feels, too," Tim said, pointedly. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he could think about disliking Charlie again. He called Gibbs.

" _Where are you?"_

"Not at Charlie's anymore. We're in his car, driving away after some people shot at us."

There was a pause.

" _How many?"_

"I saw three. Did you see any more than that?" Tim asked Charlie.

"No. Just the three."

"Just the three," Tim reported. "Maybe the same three who were after me before."

" _Maybe. Where are you?"_

"I'm not sure." Tim looked over at Charlie.

"We're almost to highway 47," Charlie said. "When we get there, turn right towards Dennisville and start heading north and west. Take 347 when it branches off. It's shorter and it'll get us to the freeway, eventually."

"Highway 47. Headed toward Dennisville."

" _We're at the gas station in Dennisville. You stop there, McGee."_

"Even if they're after us, still?"

" _Are they?"_

"Can't see them right now."

" _Then, yes. Do_ not _run off on your own. If they're shooting at you, you need backup."_

"Okay." Tim hung up. "I think a decision has been made for you."

Charlie laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. Figures. If they had just left me alone, I wouldn't have made any trouble. I never have. They left me alone for thirty years. Why change that now?"

"You would have said no?" Tim asked.

"I don't know," Charlie said. "You never know those kinds of things until they're right there. Like you said, they made the decision for me. It's not like I can safely go home when there are people shooting at me. They've shown me that I'm expendable. Even if they were only shooting at you, they were willing to risk my life to get you. So what now?"

Tim looked ahead and saw the stop sign, signaling their approach to highway 47.

"Now, we hook up with my former boss and teammate and we find someplace to hide out while we figure out what the next step should be."

"And what are you thinking will come next?"

Tim took a breath. "I think we'll head for DC."

"Of course. The place they'll want to keep us from."

"That's pretty much the size of it."

Charlie sighed.

"Regretting that you'll have to do the right thing?" Tim asked, derisively.

Charlie gave another humorless laugh.

"I know I'm the bad guy in your eyes, but my worst crime is being gutless. I never wished any harm on your dad. I always did what I thought was the best thing. Even when I disagreed with him, I followed his orders because that was my job as his second. Even if you went back and looked through every moment of that last operation, the only black mark against me was when I tried to protest Sam's orders, but even then, in the end, I followed them to the letter. If it had been a matter of fighting back with a weapon, I'd have done it. I just couldn't fight back against political power. I didn't know how. I still don't know how to do that." He took a deep breath and shook his head. "Hate me if you want to. I'm sure I deserve it, but don't make the mistake of thinking I'm the villain in this situation. With the way they're working, if you focus all your attention on me, what you'll likely do is end up dead."

Tim couldn't forgive Charlie so easily, but he could accept that he was right about that. Silence fell and they drove until they got to the gas station. Tim slowed down, pulled in and then pulled right back out with Tony and Gibbs in the lead.

While he little relished having to be with Charlie, Tim knew that it was a necessity.

The two groups drove for another three hours before stopping.


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

 _Twenty-seven years ago..._

Sam walked out of the building and took a long, deep breath. He stared up at the sky and smiled. It was so blue and clear. But then, it could be cloudy and pouring rain and he'd be just as happy as he was right now.

In fact, he was so full of energy that he wished he could fly. Since that wasn't possible, he ran as fast as he could to the park where Naomi said she'd be waiting with Tim and Sarah. He slowed down when he saw them. Naomi was sitting on a bench while Tim was swinging back and forth, gleefully trying to go as high as possible, and Sarah was happily dumping sand on her head. He stood for a moment and watched his family.

Even with all the heartache and pain that had come before, Sam could honestly say that he had exactly what he wanted right now. Sure, he hoped to get a job, but he had applications out and he was just waiting to hear back. Beyond that, he had broken free of the life he'd been in before. He would not turn into his father. He would not become a distant, cold parent who loved his children but never really connected with them and rarely saw them. He would be there. He would be with them, and he would let them know how much he loved them.

Sam felt that he truly had the chance to be the father he had told Tim he could be.

"Dad!"

Sam smiled as Tim leapt out of the swing and began to run toward him. He didn't use the word _daddy_ anymore, but Sarah did. And the real joy he could see on his son's face kept him from regretting Tim growing up so quickly.

"Did you pass? Did you pass?" Tim asked, eagerly.

"Let me get over to your mother, first, Tim," Sam said.

Tim grabbed his hand and pulled him toward Naomi, trying to get him there more quickly. Sam was happy to oblige.

"Well?" Naomi asked.

"Minor revisions only. My advisor said it'd only take a few days to do them once they get me the list."

"What does that mean?" Tim asked.

"It means that I'm done, Tim," Sam said. "I've finished my Ph.D."

"No more school?"

"Well, not as a student. I'm going to be a teacher."

"That's wonderful! We need to celebrate, Sam!" Naomi said.

"Sarah! Dad's done! Yea!" Tim said, kneeling down beside his sister in the sand.

Sarah looked at Tim.

"Done?" she asked.

"Yeah!"

He waved his hands in the air and she copied him.

"Yea!" she shouted. And then, she dumped more sand on herself.

"Sarah! Stop that," Naomi said. "Tim, help her get the sand out of her hair. Then, we'll go and get something to eat."

Sam watched as Tim enthusiastically brushed the sand out of Sarah's hair while she protested. Then, Tim helped her stand up and brushed the sand off her clothes, too. Tim's devotion to Sarah had not ebbed as time had gone on. He spent a lot of time with her and loved her.

"All right, Tim," Sam said. "You don't have to get _every_ grain of sand off her. Let's go."

Together, they left the park, and Sam was ready for the next phase of his life to begin.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Vance left NCIS, wondering when Cresswell would get in contact with him, but figuring that whatever he chose would be fine.

"Leon."

Vance turned and smiled slightly.

"Gordon."

Cresswell walked over.

"You worried about being overheard?"

"Nope. I don't know anything vital, and I've already thrown my hat in the ring as far as where I stand."

Cresswell nodded and gestured. Together, they walked to a bench in Willard Park and sat down.

"I have a few questions."

"Ask away," Vance said.

"First, did you know that Gibbs was going to drag Captain Coleman into this?"

"No. I didn't know about that until it was already done."

"Good. I'd like to think that you'd have given me _some_ warning."

Vance didn't comment on that because he wasn't sure whether he would have or not, in reality. Cresswell didn't press the point.

"What do you know about Agent McGee's part in this?"

"Dr. McGee is his father. Currently, he's UA, but he's still an NCIS agent."

"Nothing more?"

"No."

"That's a risk you're taking, you know."

"I'm aware of that," Vance said. "However, my sympathies lie with him and his father."

Cresswell nodded and didn't offer his own opinion.

"Have you been contacted by anyone above you?"

"Yes. I've had a few calls from SecNav. Secretary Stidden contacted me once at the beginning of this mess, but I haven't heard from him recently. Are you aware that Secretary Stidden is involved?"

Cresswell paused for a few seconds, digesting that piece of information.

"No, I wasn't aware of that. How deeply?"

"I don't know, but he's definitely in on it, whether it's at his instigation or not."

"I wonder if Captain Coleman knows."

"I learned about it from the McGees, and since she is representing them, I would assume that she knows as well."

"And she didn't tell me," Cresswell said and shook his head in frustration. "I get so irritated when my people seem to think I need protecting."

"Is that better or worse than when they just decide you don't need to know?"

Cresswell smiled a bit.

"I don't know. I hate that either one is a possibility."

Vance chuckled.

"Well, any other questions?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Mostly, what they don't want me to do. I'm going to say nothing unless they ask me, and I'm going to put myself firmly on Dr. McGee's side, if they ask. What about you?"

Cresswell smiled ruefully.

"I'm going to try to stay neutral since I'm supposed to be leading JAG, but if it comes right down to it, I'll put Dr. McGee's life before Secretary Stidden's reputation, if that's what he's worried about."

He took a breath, looked at Vance and then got up and walked away.

Vance remained behind for a few more minutes. It was so ridiculous that this was even something that needed discussing, but that was high stakes politics.

He could still hope that it worked out for the best.

Not just for Sam McGee, but for his son as well.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was getting late when Gibbs signaled that he was going to be getting off the road. Tim was glad. They'd been driving for a while, taking a lot of different roads in an effort to make sure that they lost any possible pursuers. Silence had reigned in the car for a long time, and Tim felt really awkward about it. He just didn't have anything to say to Charlie. Part of him wanted to ask questions about his father, but most of him was afraid of opening himself up to the idea that Charlie wasn't completely to blame for what happened.

"What now?" Charlie asked.

"Looks like we're going to stop for the night," Tim said.

"Great."

Tim wasn't too excited about it, either, but he was glad to see that they'd at least be stopping at an inn and not camping out in their cars.

They pulled to a stop, and Tim got out.

"Well?" he asked Gibbs.

"Stay here. We'll check in."

"All right."

Tim stood where he was as Tony and Gibbs walked into a building under a simple sign that read VACANCY, choosing to avoid sitting next to Charlie again. He kept looking around to see if anyone was following them, although he'd never seen any sign during the long day of driving.

Gibbs and Tony came out a few minutes later and walked over to where Tim was waiting.

"Well?" he asked.

"We've got two rooms for the night," Tony said. "It's not glamorous by any means, but it has beds."

"That's glamorous enough for me," Tim said, thinking how wonderful just having a mattress would be for two nights in a row.

"Leadore is with me," Gibbs said. "You're with Tony."

"Okay," Tim agreed, easily.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at him. Tim supposed that it seemed strange that he was willing to get away from this man he'd been so determined to find, but he didn't mind having some time to think about what was going to happen, especially when Charlie was currently an unwilling participant. What if he didn't go through with it in the end? What if he tried to get away from them? What if he was really just leading Tim on?

Tim leaned back down into the car.

"Charlie, we're staying here. You'll be in the room with Agent Gibbs."

"Agent?"

"He's NCIS."

"Oh, right." Charlie took a breath and nodded. "Any chance that there are clothes I can change into? Is there a gift shop or something? Even just a pair of shorts?"

He got out of the car, and Tim turned to Gibbs.

"Was there a gift shop in there?"

Gibbs nodded and looked at Tony.

"Gotcha, Boss," Tony said. He turned to Charlie. "What's your size?"

"If they've got an extra large or a 2XL, I'd take either one," he said. "Just something that's not jeans."

"On my way."

"Where am I staying?" Charlie asked, looking at Gibbs this time.

"This way," Gibbs said. Then, he looked at Tim.

"I'll wait for Tony," Tim said. Again, _boss_ almost slipped out, but he tamped down on that habit. Best to break it now.

The eyebrow went up.

"I will," Tim said again.

"Okay."

Gibbs gestured to Charlie who nodded and followed him to the main building while Tim kept standing by Charlie's car. After a couple of minutes, he sighed and leaned in to get the keys. He couldn't decide how he felt about Charlie. He wanted to hate him, but what he was seeing was someone who had been given a terrible choice and had chosen the option least damaging to himself. He hadn't been out to screw up Sam's life, even if that had nearly been the result. He hadn't kidded himself that it was the right thing to do, and he had been strangely upfront about it.

All in all, Tim was confused.

"Hey, McGee. I got some shorts. Let's drop them off and get to bed."

"Sure. Okay."

Tony gave him a look but didn't comment. They headed inside. Tony passed off the shorts and then led Tim to the room they were sharing.

"So?" Tony asked as he closed the door.

"So, what?" Tim asked, avoiding his gaze.

"That's Charlie, huh?"

"Obviously."

"Seems like a normal guy."

"Yeah, he does."

"Come on, McGee. You were so obsessed with getting to him, you probably would have started walking if Gibbs had said no. And now, you're all blase about him being out of your sight? What gives?"

Tim shrugged and didn't answer.

Tony sat down on one of the beds and gave that evaluating stare Tim hated so much. Most of the time, Tony didn't bother, and when he did, he was usually very good at getting at what was wrong.

"Were you disappointed?"

"Not really."

"Then, what's up with you?"

"Nothing."

"Try it again and sound more sincere."

Tim sat down on the other bed.

"I can't."

"Then, what's up?" Tony asked again.

"I can't hate him. I pity him."

"Why?"

"Because he was never willing to take a risk and that left him completely alone. He's not a horrible person. He wasn't trying to send my dad to prison. He thought that Dad would never know because he had to leave the Navy anyway. He knew it was wrong, but he convinced himself that it wouldn't hurt my dad. Now, he's going to tell what he knows, not because he wants to help as much as because they've left him no other choice. He admitted that he has no idea whether he would have helped me without that pressure. I just don't know what's going to come of all this and... I hate that I can see why Dad liked him and why it hurt him so much. Charlie isn't the bad guy. I wish it was that simple, but he's just a guy who let himself get used."

Tim sighed and lay down on the bed, taking a moment to savor the softness of the hard mattress. He also took a moment to regret the fact that Tony was no longer his colleague. He didn't want to bring it up, though. It felt selfish to talk about his own situation until he knew his dad was safe.

"Did you think it was going to be that simple?" Tony asked.

"I don't know, but it would be nice if _something_ was."

"Maybe the end of this will be that simple."

Tim smiled a little up at the ceiling.

"I doubt it. I think that will be the worst part of this, even if I get what I want."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs looked at Charlie. This was the person Tim had worked so hard to find, and at first glance, he seemed quite normal. Awkward about sharing a hotel room with a complete stranger and uncomfortable with his situation.

"Agent... Gibbs?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Tim told me that he used to work for you."

"Still does," Gibbs said.

"That's not what he said," Charlie said. "He called you his former boss, said he gave up his job."

"Misunderstanding."

"Oh. What's your opinion about getting back to DC?"

"In what respect?"

"Well, Tim wants me to tell Sam's lawyer about what happened thirty years ago. That would be in DC, I'm assuming, and some people tried to kill one or both of us, today. Do you think they'll keep trying and will we be putting ourselves in more danger by going back there?"

"What's the alternative? You think you can run far enough to hide?"

To his surprise, Charlie smiled a little.

"Yeah. You can always run far enough. The question is whether or not it's worth it to run that far."

"And?"

"And, this time, it's not because I'd have to run a lot farther than I did thirty years ago. When all this went down, the only person I was hiding from was Sam."

"Was it worth it?" Gibbs asked, curious to know whether or not Charlie had reconsidered his choice.

"Depends on which part. Once I'd made my choice, yes, it was. I knew it was the wrong choice from day one, but I still question whether or not Sam could have done anything for me when it would have made a difference. Don't get me wrong. I'm not blaming him for what happened. He made the right decision back then, but he was critically injured. I was in it alone. Looking back now, I see that I really wasn't in a good frame of mind for making that kind of decision anyway. The op ended badly. Nothing we did saved anyone." He shook his head. "When they came to me and demanded my cooperation, I felt like I had nothing else to lose except my own freedom. A lie that wouldn't hurt anyone..." He laughed humorlessly. "I should have known that it was their backup plan, but like I said, I wasn't really in a good place to think about those things."

"Sounds like an excuse to me."

"It is, but it's also the truth. I should have seen more clearly, but at the time, I just wanted to survive it." He sat down. "Regardless, what are we going to do?"

"Get back to DC. They might come after us. They might not."

"Okay."

Charlie pulled out a gun and Gibbs tensed for just a second before he held it out by the barrel.

"You want to take this?"

"Do you want me to?"

Charlie shrugged. "I'm not all that excited about using it, to be honest. There are only a few bullets left in it, anyway."

"Keep it. You might need it."

Charlie just nodded and lowered the gun. He stared at it for a while.

"Before that last op, I always called myself the life of the party." He laughed softly. "I was the party guy, always having fun, never thinking much about the future. I didn't really have anyone to worry about me. I was living for myself. I wasn't a placeholder for someone else. It was liberating and wonderful. The operations were serious, but they were exciting. We always came back with very few injuries and we were always successful...until the last one. When we got back... I couldn't be the life of the party anymore. I went from the life of the party to a near hermit. I didn't try to keep in contact with anyone I had known before. I had no family to speak of. It was easy to settle out of the way. I have a few friends, but mostly, I'm alone like Sam warned I would be if I didn't take a risk."

"Do you wish you'd made a different choice?"

Charlie looked up at him. "I'd like to think that, if I had known how it would affect Sam, I'd be a better friend than I was. But if I'm honest with myself, I might still have been able to justify what I did to save myself. I don't know. I never pretended it was right, just practical."

Gibbs nodded. He gestured toward the bathroom.

"You can shower, if you'd like."

"Okay."

Charlie got up, holding the shorts in his hands. He set the gun down on the bedside table. When he got to the bathroom door, he stopped.

"Where did you serve?" he asked. "You've got military written all over you."

"Marines."

Charlie nodded and then closed the bathroom door. Gibbs sat where he was and considered the conversation he'd just had. Tim had seemed a little flummoxed by Charlie, and Gibbs was starting to see why. Charlie was so blunt about what he'd done and why he'd done it. He didn't pretend it was right. He admitted regretting hurting his friend, but he didn't know if he'd have done anything differently. Gibbs could also see some lingering effects of whatever had gone wrong in that last operation. It was clear that it had been much worse than anyone had anticipated, and Charlie had not escaped those effects, even if he hadn't paid any other price.

All in all, Charlie was a complicated guy, and Gibbs could see why Tim was put off by him.

There was no further conversation. When Charlie came out, he got into bed and the lights went out.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

 _Twenty-six years ago..._

He was standing in his backyard, looking at it as if surveying his kingdom. The thought made him smile.

Athens, Ohio. It was a place Sam had never even heard of before he'd started looking for a job. Now, though, not only had he heard of it, he'd moved here. They'd just bought a house and, for the first time since college, Sam wasn't living near an ocean. It was a strange feeling, knowing that the ocean was almost 600 miles away from him. ...and knowing that he didn't mind it. He was as healed now as he would ever be. He had blind spots that would have kept him from ever going on a field deployment again. He was grateful that the rest of his body had mostly healed with the exception of the scars that he'd carry with him for the rest of his life.

He wanted this to be the last time his family was uprooted. Unless his job became miserable, Sam had no desire to move ever again. He had a job (tenure-track, no less). His coworkers seemed great. His neighbors had been welcoming. All in all, this was as good as he could ask for.

 _And I have it._

"Sam?"

Sam looked back over his shoulder and smiled at Naomi.

"Just lost in thought," he said.

"Good thoughts or bad thoughts?"

"Good thoughts," Sam said. "Lyn Yutang said, 'The secret of contentment is knowing how to enjoy what you have and to be able to lose all desire for things beyond your reach.'"

Naomi laughed. "So is that something I'll have to get used to?"

"What do you mean?"

"Quotes?"

Sam grinned. "I've used them before. I wooed you very skillfully using quotations."

"You seem to use them a whole lot more now than you ever did before."

"'It is a good thing for an uneducated man to read books of quotations. The quotations, when engraved upon the memory, give you good thoughts. They also make you anxious to read the authors and look for more.' Winston Churchill."

"You're not an uneducated man, Sam. You have a Ph.D."

"True, but I think there's value in remembering others' words. Emerson said that it was better to stay in one's own mind instead of quoting others, but I disagree. Sure, it shouldn't be _all_ I say, but it's not. I can be plenty pithy on my own."

Naomi hugged Sam tightly and then kissed him on the cheek.

"You haven't really changed, Sam. You're still the same person I fell in love with years ago. And I love you for it."

Sam hugged her back.

"And I love you. Without family, nothing else would matter." Then, he couldn't resist just one more. "Og Mandino. 'Always reward your long hours of labor and toil in the very best way, surrounded by your family. Nurture their love carefully, remembering that your children need models, not critics, and your own progress will hasten when you constantly strive to present your best side to your children. And even if you have failed at all else in the eyes of the world, if you have a loving family, you are a success.'"

"Then, you are a total and complete success, Sam McGee," Naomi said softly.

"There's no more looking back, Naomi. What happened is in the past. I'm going to try to only look forward."

The front door slammed and they separated, looking back toward the house.

"Dad! Mom!"

"In the backyard, sweetie!" Naomi called. "You'd better go and check your sister. I'm sure you just woke her up!"

There was a laugh from inside. In a few minutes, Tim came out, carefully leading Sarah by the hand down the steps to the grass. Sam knelt down and held out his arms. Sarah ran over to him, and he picked her up and then threw her up into the air. She screamed and laughed.

"How was school, Tim?"

"We made rockets!" he said, excitedly and launched into an explanation of how his teacher had let them made rockets out of film canisters and alka seltzer tablets.

As Sam listened, he smiled at Tim's enthusiasm. He was finally losing that fear he'd had, and for Tim's sake as much as anything, Sam was determined to leave his past in the past.

They went back inside and Sam couldn't help but wonder what events the rest of his life would hold.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Present..._

Tim was awake long before Tony. In fact, he was awake before a lot of people. He got up and went into the bathroom to shower. Part of him wondered if they were being too relaxed about whether or not they were being followed, but another part of him, strangely, couldn't bring himself to care. He came back out of the kitchen and felt antsy. He wanted to get back to DC...before Charlie changed his mind...or anything else.

But he was also dreading that return because it wouldn't be getting back to his life, even if everything worked out right. It would be setting him on the course of his life completely changed. He wouldn't have his job. More importantly, he might not have his freedom, either. The closer all that came to being reality, the more he felt as though he was carrying a lump of lead around in his stomach. He'd tried (and mostly succeeded) in ignoring all that while he was hiding out, but that wasn't the case any longer.

He quietly let himself out of the room and walked outside. He did check his surroundings, first, but then, he just walked to a bench by the front of the motel and sat down. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He didn't know how long he sat there, trying not to regret what he'd chosen to do, but suddenly he caught a whiff of strong coffee. He didn't look up, not even when Gibbs sat down by him.

"You're up early," Gibbs said.

"So are you," Tim said.

Silence fell for a few minutes. It was the first time there had been a chance to talk to Gibbs when he wasn't trying to offend him or convince him to do something. ...but Tim found he wasn't really looking forward to the conversation. He had no idea what direction it might take.

"You ready to go back?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah," Tim said, refusing to elaborate on his own ambivalence.

"And then what?"

Tim just shrugged.

"What are you expecting, Tim?"

"Jail," Tim said, bluntly. "What I've done is illegal. There's no other way to look at it, and I'm pretty sure the federal government won't be leaning toward mercy in this situation, given that they're the ones who will suffer for it. I knew that it was illegal when I chose to do it. I didn't commit a crime in ignorance. I'm willing to pay the price."

"Are you?"

"Yes," Tim said. He didn't bother to point out that he didn't _want_ to pay the price. That was obvious, or at least, it should be obvious to someone as observant as Gibbs generally was. Actually, that should be obvious to _anyone_ , observant or not. Who _wanted_ to go to jail?

"You think your dad will let you?"

Tim smiled at his hands. "He won't have a choice. Unlike him, I'm guilty. Can't get me out of it. My dad doesn't have the connections to do anything, and since I did what they could imprison me for, I don't see that I have much of a chance."

"So you won't fight it?"

"What would be the point of that? I'm not going to lie and pretend I didn't do something wrong to make things right. Once I know that Dad is going to be okay, I'm going to turn myself in." Tim tried not to think about what would happen to him, then.

"Can't let you do that."

Tim forced a laugh. "And what do you think I could possibly do to get out of it, B...?" He bit down on calling Gibbs his boss again. "I can't go on the run for the rest of my life, and I refuse to lie to protect myself, especially when I know it won't work because I'm so bad at it."

"Those aren't your only options."

"What else do I have, then?"

There was a pause.

"I'm still your boss, McGee."

That finally got Tim to sit up and look at Gibbs.

"What? No. I quit. I sent the information to HR. I sent it to Vance. I sent it to _you_. I took every precaution I could. I made sure that it was completely clear that I wasn't working for NCIS when I hacked the DoD. I didn't want you guys to be guilty by association."

"The DoD?"

"Yeah. Only place I could get what I needed. I can't be working for NCIS when I did that."

Gibbs had a slight smile on his face. "Well, it was Vance's idea."

"What was?"

"He cancelled your resignation."

"He can't do that. I sent it to HR!"

"He's the director of NCIS, McGee."

"Yeah, but..."

"You still have a job."

Tim found that he couldn't process that. He stared at Gibbs for a long time, shocked that something could have happened in this whole thing that he hadn't anticipated at _all_. Sure, he had known that his team would want to help him, but he never considered the idea that _Vance_ might put his career on the line to keep Tim employed.

He got to his feet and walked a couple of steps away from Gibbs, facing away from him while he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his effort to protect NCIS from his actions had failed. ...and that he was really excited at the idea that he had a job. ...but still, he couldn't let himself get deluded into thinking that changed the outcome.

He shook his head.

"Even if that's true, it won't make a difference. I still... I still hacked the Department of Defense. I spent a week trying to get in. Nearly all day, every day. The only time I stopped was when the storm nearly took out the shack I was in and when the battery on the laptop ran down. I was trying so hard to get in there and I did. That means a possible twenty years in prison."

He heard Gibbs stand up. Tim didn't want to keep up this conversation and he started to walk back to the room.

"Tim."

He stopped.

"Maybe you had to make that assumption when you were out there alone, but you're putting yourself in a position you don't need to be in. You're focused on getting your dad out of this. Fine. I get that you can't let yourself focus on anything else. Let us do that. We're focused on getting _you_ out of it. And you're not going to prison."

That irritating tightness took over his throat again, and Tim really didn't want to show Gibbs anything like that. It smacked of weakness and he was determined to hold it together. He didn't want to turn around until he was sure he'd controlled the feeling.

"We'll get you and Charlie back to DC, but that's not the end of it."

Suddenly, Tim had a horrible thought and he turned around, earnestly looking at Gibbs.

"Don't let my dad know. Not until it's over, whichever way it goes," Tim said. "Please?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, but Tim didn't want to elaborate. He didn't say anything more than that.

"Okay," Gibbs said, after a few seconds. "For now."

"Thanks."

Tim walked back to the room. Tony was still sleeping. It wasn't even six a.m., though. So it made sense. He sat down on the bed and wondered what the rest of the day would bring.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Sam was awake very early in the morning. He lay quietly beside Naomi and stared up at the dark ceiling. He knew he wasn't going to sleep any longer. Quietly, trying not to disturb Naomi, he slid out of bed and into his chair. He rolled into the bathroom, showered, and then, he rolled out to the main room.

Then, he pulled out his phone. His background picture was his family. He had made a decision to have his family be the most important thing in his life, and it still was. He wished that he could just see and talk to Tim, stop him from whatever he might be doing, keep him safe.

 _But I can't. I never could stop him from doing what he'd decided was the right thing._

And that was it. Tim had inherited his mother's stubbornness and both his parents' sense of right and wrong.

And when it came right down to it, Tim still felt that he had to protect his father. Sam had often wished that he had been strong enough to hide his emotional turmoil in those early days, but he hadn't, and Tim had paid the price for it.

Sam didn't think about that time very much. He didn't _want_ to remember how he had felt, but he could still remember Tim's arms around him, his young son trying to make his father better, afraid of his father's tears.

That was what he was doing now, even if Tim's actions were more dramatic than they had been as a child. Tim was afraid of what Sam was going through and was trying to make everything better in the only way he knew how.

Beyond all that, though, Sam could admit that he didn't _want_ Tim to know what he had done all those years ago, and he knew that Tim had the ability to find whatever records remained, perhaps Sam's own account. Maybe even Charlie's. How much of a shock would it be for Tim to know that his father had been involved in those missions in Central America? Would he believe what Charlie had said? Or would his familial devotion lead him to believe what Sam himself had said?

Those thoughts led Sam to what Vance had offered and what Sam had requested. Could the NCIS director keep Tim out of prison? Would he be willing to take the risks such a thing might require?

There were so many questions, and the worst of it was that Sam couldn't do anything himself. What he really wanted was to find this Stidden person and give him a piece of his mind. If he was the mastermind behind all this, then, he was to blame, not only for Sam's situation, but for the threats that had been made to everyone else involved. He was a disgusting excuse for a human being, and Sam hated that he couldn't just take him to task.

Maybe the opportunity would present itself, though. This wasn't over yet, and while Sam had been required to let a lot of it just happen, given the chance, he wouldn't let this man do to his son what he'd tried to do to Sam.

Not a chance.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47**

The ringing phone woke Faith out of a very sound sleep. She resented waking up. She was not happy about it, but she couldn't bring herself to let the phone keep ringing. Groaning, she rolled over and grabbed her phone.

"Yes?" she asked, trying to keep herself from sounding like she'd been asleep five seconds before.

" _Are you secure?"_

Faith sat up.

"Give me five minutes to check it out."

There was a click. Faith got out of bed and checked for bugs in her apartment. She'd never found any sign of them before, but that was no reason not to test it again. It was far from foolproof, but it was the best she could do.

After five minutes (and she was happy to see that it was _exactly_ five minutes later), her phone rang again.

" _Secure?"_

"As much as I can be. What is it?"

" _We need to talk to you. We're on our way back to DC and we need a safe place to talk."_

Faith thought about it. She wanted to ask for details, but she could understand not wanting to stay on the phone very long and wanting to avoid saying anything specific when someone could be listening in whether she knew it or not. Where to tell him to go? Then, she smiled to herself and said a name.

"A. J."

There was a pause, and Faith thought she might have surprised him, just a little bit.

" _Okay."_

Faith hung up and sat where she was. Should she warn Chegwidden that an unknown number of people would be descending on his home? No. Gibbs could easily explain himself, even with the few words he often was willing to use.

What now? Well, she'd be closer to Chegwidden if she stayed home. Maybe she should warn Cresswell of what might be coming. Again, not in detail, but _something_.

Normally, she wouldn't dream of calling him at home, but there was always a first time, and if it was a first time, it would be less likely to be monitored.

She dialed his number and waited.

" _Hello? This is Cresswell."_

Unlike Faith herself, Cresswell _did_ sound half asleep.

"Sorry for waking you, General."

" _Captain Coleman?"_

"Yes, sir."

She heard a loud yawn.

" _It's very early."_

"Yes, I know."

" _What can I do for you?"_

"Things will be changing rather dramatically, after today, I think."

" _In what way?"_ He sounded much more awake.

"I'd rather not say over the phone, but I will give you the details when I can. I won't be coming in today."

"You _won't be coming into work? I'm shocked."_

Faith smiled. "There's a first time for everything."

" _Thank you for letting me know."_

"You're welcome, sir."

" _Stay on your toes, Captain."_

"Yes, sir."

" _Now, Dora is giving a death glare, I have half an hour before I need to be awake and I might be able to squeeze in a few more minutes."_

"Good-bye, General."

There was the tell-tale silence that signaled the end of the conversation. Faith was far too awake to go back to sleep. Instead, she pulled out her yoga mat and did some exercising in her main room, rather than her usual run.

She hoped that she'd hear from Gibbs sooner rather than later.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They all gathered in one of the rooms to discuss what was coming next. Gibbs could see that Charlie was far from enthused, but he wasn't trying to leave and he didn't suggest that this was pointless. It was just that he wasn't hiding his feelings. Tim's expression was carefully blank, although his eyes were on Charlie more often than not, as if he was worried that the man would disappear.

"Are we going to keep driving in two cars, Boss?" Tony asked. "They've got to know both of our cars by now."

"I'd rather not leave my car here, in the middle of nowhere," Charlie said. "It's the only one I've got."

"It's the only life you've got, too. Which is more valuable?" Tony asked.

"Both," Charlie said, with a bit of a smile.

Tony smiled back, a bit unwillingly, Gibbs could tell. He didn't want to like Charlie, but Gibbs could see that natural charm that he had. It wasn't forced. It was just the way he was.

"I don't mind if you guys don't want me to be the driver," Charlie said. "I can understand that you don't necessarily trust me to do the right thing, but if it won't make a difference one way or the other, I'd like to have my car come along."

Gibbs considered. It probably wouldn't make a difference, and, if there was an active chase, it might do them good to be able to split up easily.

"We'll take both cars. If there's pursuit, we can split up."

"And meet where?"

Gibbs smiled. "Chegwidden's place."

"Who?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. Who?" Charlie echoed.

"Former head of JAG," Tim said, but his brow was furrowed. "Why him?"

"Because that's where Captain Coleman wants us to go."

"Who is Captain Coleman?" Charlie asked.

"Sam McGee's JAG lawyer."

Charlie nodded.

"Do you know where he lives?" Tony asked. "I don't know about you, but I don't keep track of the personal addresses of JAG people."

"I know," Gibbs said.

"Okay. So we're going to Chegwidden's place. Why would Captain Coleman want us to go there?"

"Because people won't expect it."

"That's for sure," Tony said. " _I_ wouldn't expect it."

"Okay. It's a few hours' drive, and we can't depend on them not finding us," Gibbs said.

"Or just knowing where we'll likely be heading," Tim added.

"So, if necessary, we split up, but _only_ if it's necessary," Gibbs said, skewering Tim with a look. He figured that Tim might use that as an excuse to get away from them again. Gibbs still wasn't sure if Tim accepted that there was a possibility of not going to prison, and that lack of hope for his own future could lead him to be more reckless than he might be otherwise.

"I hear you," Tim said.

"Good. Ready?"

"Yeah. Might as well get going."

They all nodded and began to gather their stuff. Tony and Charlie left the room, first. Gibbs started out.

"Wait," Tim said.

Gibbs found it interesting that Tim seemed to be intentionally _not_ calling him _boss_. It was like he wouldn't allow himself to consider the idea of still having his job. He turned back and raised an eyebrow.

Tim held out a flash drive.

"You should have this. It has all the records I've found. I'll have the laptop, and Charlie. Then, if something happens, it won't all disappear."

"You expecting it?"

"No, but I'd rather be paranoid and wrong, than casual and wrong."

He was still holding it out. Gibbs could acknowledge the practicality of it and he took the flash drive from Tim's hand and slipped it into his pocket.

"No one would expect _you_ to have it," Tim said.

Gibbs smiled a little and nodded. Then, they left and were on their way back to DC.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Naomi woke up and saw that Sam's side of the bed was empty. She sat up.

"Sam?"

No reply. For just a moment, her heart clenched in her chest. Sam was struggling with this for more than one reason. There was Tim's sacrifice on the one side and the accusations on the other side. In between was Sam hating that he had to be involved in the situation at all. She never wanted to see Sam as he had been thirty years ago. While she had no real criticism of the Navy, she was glad he had left. It had made him into an amazing father, not that he'd been bad before. He was happier. He was more relaxed.

And all she wanted was to have Sam back to that. He'd never quite got back to that state after his paralysis, although he was close.

She got out of bed.

"Sam?"

She walked out and saw Sam sitting in his chair, staring at his phone.

"Sam?" she asked a third time.

He looked up and smiled at her.

"What are you doing?"

He held up his phone.

"Reminding myself of what I want."

Naomi walked over and sat on the couch. She looked at his phone and smiled.

"We need to get a new family photo taken. This one is outdated."

"I love it."

"So do I."

Sam sighed and transferred himself to the couch beside her. Then, he leaned against her. Naomi put her arm around him and held him tightly.

"We're going to get through this, Sam. Somehow, it's all going to work out."

"Right now, all I can do is hope you're right." Sam lifted up his hand. "'Hope is faith holding out its hand in the dark.' George Iles."

Naomi smiled and took his hand.

"It's a good thing there's someone to take it, then."

"Yeah."

Then, Sam's phone rang. He took a deep breath and answered.

"Hello?" He froze and looked at Naomi. Then, he put the phone on speaker.

" _...and you have to know that all this effort won't mean a thing."_

"Who is this?" Sam asked.

" _That's not important."_

"On the contrary, it's very important. I am going to hang up this phone right now if you don't identify yourself."

" _You'd risk that?"_

"Yes, I would," Sam said, his voice hard. Nothing could take him back to his military days like an attempt to intimidate him. Sam hated being intimidated, and he didn't take it very well.

...which was why he hung up firmly and looked at Naomi.

"They'll call back," she said.

"I'm willing to bet that they will," Sam said, his voice changing to one of resignation, "but I wish they wouldn't."

The phone rang again. Sam looked at Naomi as he answered.

" _You made your point."_

"Good. Who is this?"

" _My name is Bruce Danson. It won't mean anything to you. We've never met. You won't be able to find any records about me."_

"And who are you calling for?"

" _That I can't tell you. I have a warning. You're taking a lot of bold steps to postpone the inevitable, and you're stepping on a lot of toes in the process."_

"Well, then, they should get their feet out of the way. I'm in a wheelchair. I'm easy to avoid."

" _Your son isn't going to make it back here, no matter what you do."_

Naomi met Sam's gaze and saw the anguish and fury in his eyes. She shook her head. Trying to compromise for Tim would be a mistake if they actually were still trying to find him, but this seemed to mean that he was on his way to DC. Why now? What had changed?

But it was also important not to let this man know how little they knew.

"Look, you people have done your best to intimidate me, my family and my lawyer. You're failing. You're trying to be more direct, I suppose, but it's not going to work. Don't call me again." Sam hung up once more. Then, he sat back.

"What has Tim been doing?" Naomi wondered aloud.

"We know what he's been doing," Sam said.

"But specifically. If he wasn't successful, they wouldn't be bringing him up," Naomi said. "He must have done something that...stepped on some toes."

"I don't even care if he's successful or not, Naomi. I want my son to be safe and if they're threatening him, that could mean that they're going to go after him."

Naomi shook her head.

"No, Sam. What this means is that Tim has done or found something and that they don't have him. If they did, that man would have said so. But he gave us a name. I think we should tell Director Vance."

"Why not Agent Gibbs?"

"Because he seemed really confident that we wouldn't be able to find out who he was," Naomi said.

"That could just be because he gave us a fake name. We have no way of verifying it," Sam said.

"I think we should try it."

Sam nodded. "Okay." He took a deep breath and let it out quickly. "I won't be able to feel good about any of this until I know Tim is safe."

"I know, Sam. I feel the same way, but the faster we work with it, the better chance we have of keeping Tim safe because we'll get the people who could be threatening him. Let's not give them any more leverage than they already have. ...and giving up is still not an option."

Sam smiled a little and she knew that the possibility was still in his mind. He knew it wasn't the right thing to do, but there were a lot of things Sam would do for family. He would willing give up his own life to save them.

Much like Tim himself. Naomi could see it so easily. They were cut from the same cloth. Tim was just a bit more stubborn than Sam...a gift from Naomi herself.

She hugged Sam tightly and kissed him.

"I love you, Sam. And when this is all over, we are going to take a real vacation. Understand?"

Sam laughed softly and kissed her back.

"I think I'm okay with that."


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48**

Tim was driving behind Gibbs. They had got onto the interstate. It was another few hours driving south to get to DC, and he hoped it would be uneventful.

Even if it was painfully awkward.

"Are you married, Tim?"

"No," Tim said.

"Besides all this, how are your parents doing?"

"Good."

Charlie laughed a little. "I know you don't like me, on principle, if nothing else, but this is about a four-hour drive we have ahead of us. You won't be betraying your dad if you talk to me."

Tim could see why Charlie had friends. He was an open, friendly guy. And his attitude was genuine. He might be a coward, but he _was_ a nice guy. It was easy to forget that he didn't like him.

"I know that."

Charlie smiled. "I know. I'm still the bad guy. Even if you believe that, I never hated your parents, and I always wanted things to work out for them. What has Sam been doing since he left the Navy?"

"He went to grad school," Tim said, a little grudgingly. "Got his doctorate and he's been a professor in Ohio."

"That's...great. Of all the jobs he could have got after leaving, I can really see him being a great teacher. He always was the one with the words. What about your mom?"

"She raised us," Tim said.

"Us?" Charlie said. "You have siblings?"

"Just one. A sister."

"Oh, I'm really glad. I know they had tried for a long time."

Tim nodded. "The doctor said that it was too dangerous for Mom to have any more. So they stopped trying after Sarah."

"But no problems with her?"

"No. Not that I remember. She's in England, right now. Doing research."

"That's great. I really do mean that."

"Yeah, I can tell," Tim said, still reluctant about ascribing anything positive to Charlie.

Silence fell once more, but after about an hour, Charlie started glancing behind them.

"What is it?" Tim asked.

"I think we've got a tail."

"What makes you think that?"

"There's a car behind us. It's been one car behind us for the last half hour. Even when the cars right behind us get off, it always slows down and lets one get in between. It's the silver sedan."

Tim looked in the rearview mirror at the car. He watched it for about another ten minutes and noticed the same behavior Charlie had. He nodded.

"I see it." He handed Tony's phone over. "Call Gibbs and tell him."

Charlie nodded and dialed. "Agent Gibbs, this is Charlie Leadore. We think we've got someone following us."

Tim glanced over at Charlie. "Put it on speaker."

Charlie nodded.

" _...so are you sure?"_

"As sure as we can be without asking them," Tim said.

" _Any sign of aggression?"_

"None so far," Tim said.

" _Okay. Speed up and get in front of us. Let's see if he knows that we're together."_

Tim increased his speed until he had to change lanes to get around Gibbs and Tony. He didn't do anything extremely quickly. It was just as if he was casually deciding to go faster than he had been. Once he was in place, Charlie started watching behind them without being obvious about it.

"He's moving," he said. "He's gone around the car and settled in behind Gibbs. Do you see that, Agent Gibbs?"

" _We see him."_

" _Does he see us is the real question,"_ Tony added.

"Hard to say."

"What do you want us to do?"

" _We don't want to bring these guys down on Chegwidden if we don't have to, but shaking them might be harder if we want to stay on the interstate."_

"And getting off might be more dangerous because we don't know the roads," Tim said.

" _Right."_

There was a period of silence as they all considered what to do.

"Could we provoke a reaction, somehow?" Tim asked.

"Provoke one?" Charlied echoed in surprise. "I don't know that I like the idea of trying to _get_ these guys to do something to us. They've already shot at us once."

" _I hate to say it, but I agree with Charlie,"_ Tony said. _"Trying to purposefully get these people to do something when they've already proved that they don't care about keeping you alive is not a good idea."_

"But if we got them to do something, we could know how far they were willing to go and possibly shake them before we get back to DC," Tim said.

" _What are you thinking you'd do?"_ Gibbs asked.

"Try to lose them," Tim said. "Make it obvious that we know they're back there."

Another period of silence.

" _No,"_ Gibbs said, finally. _"Too many cars on the road right now. We don't want to involve anyone else in this unless it's necessary. We stick together unless we can't. Unless they start shooting again, we keep on to Chegwidden's place. You hear me, McGee?"_

"I hear you," Tim said.

" _Good."_

Then, Gibbs hung up. Charlie looked like he was suppressing a smile.

"What?" Tim asked.

"Sounds like your boss doesn't much trust you to listen to him. I wouldn't have thought you for a reckless guy."

"I'm not."

"Oh really? You apparently went off the grid, hacked the federal government, all to save your dad from the Secretary of Defense. Now, your boss seems to think you're likely to go off again to get the bad guys to react in some way. Sounds pretty reckless to me. You must get that from Naomi."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because your dad always wanted to follow the rules. Sam was so good at what he did because he was very clear about what he would do and what he wouldn't. He never left anyone in any confusion about how he would behave in a given situation."

"He disobeyed orders," Tim said.

"Yeah, he did, but that was because he was obeying the law. The people _giving_ the orders were not doing that. Right and wrong trump orders."

"I don't see that I'm all that different."

"Yeah, you wouldn't. Just like your mother," Charlie said. "People always thought Sam was the fierce one because he was the officer, but that was because they never saw Naomi when she got angry."

"You did?"

"Yes. Once."

"What happened?"

Now, Charlie looked uncomfortable.

"What? Was she mad at _you_?"

"No. She was mad _for_ me."

"What happened?"

"Let's just leave it at my being taken advantage of. When your mother found out, she was furious. She tracked the woman down and raked her over the coals. I'd never seen anything like it. I was a little embarrassed, but I'd never really had someone step in like that before. I also knew that I never wanted Naomi mad at me."

"Well, you failed at that," Tim said.

"I know."

"I don't get how you can be so accepting of it," Tim said.

Charlie just smiled again. "Because I accept that what I did was wrong. Did you expect me to deny it or claim that I did the right thing? I can't do that. I can justify it to some degree, but the biggest thing is that I never thought Sam would even know about it. I wish I knew who told him. I wish I could have stopped him. Maybe then, _I_ could have been the one who finally let Sam know what I'd done and he wouldn't have found out while he was still trying to recover. That's the kind of weight I would never have wanted for him. I know it made things worse."

And that was the problem Tim had with Charlie. He still cared about Sam and Naomi. He wished them well. He was happy for things that had gone right for them. He knew that what he had done was wrong and he had hoped it wouldn't actually hurt them at all. He regretted that it had. All that, and he still was only helping out reluctantly because he was worried about what would happen to himself.

The silence descended once more as they both cast occasional glances behind at the car that was still following them.

Then, something pinged on Tim's brain that Charlie had said. He'd said that Naomi had done something for him that no one else had ever done. She'd stepped in and defended him. Did Charlie mean that literally? In spite of himself, Tim was finding that he was becoming curious about who Charlie was beyond a traitor to his father. Should he even ask? Maybe not, but he was stuck with him for a while longer and the silence was so awkward.

"Why didn't you ever have anyone to step in like my mom did?" Tim asked.

"Huh?" Charlie asked. He'd been staring out the window.

"You said that Mom went after the woman who took advantage of you and that you'd never had that before. Why not? You seemed to have a pretty comfortable background."

"You looked at my childhood?" Charlie asked, eyebrow raised. "That seems like overkill."

"Only to find where you might be living. Your Navy records have been hidden. That's why I tracked in on you. Your records should have been easy to find, just like my dad's were, but they weren't. That made me think that there was something more going on with you."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "That's Jerald for you. Why let things look normal when you can just pretend they don't exist at all?"

"So?" Tim asked.

Charlie shrugged. "I did have a comfortable upbringing. I was the quintessential wealthy kid. My parents were wealthy. I went to good schools. As far as education went, I got what a lot of people would kill to get. I never had to worry about where my next meal was coming from. I got sent to Europe during the summer for cultural experiences. I had everything. I have to admit that I didn't appreciate it. When you have it and so does everyone around you, you don't really realize that most people don't get the same thing. I learned about poverty, but I never experienced it."

"Okay. So..."

Charlie looked away from him. "Your dad told me once that he never wanted to be the kind of father his own dad had been. Sam never questioned that he was loved, but his dad was never there. He was too busy moving up through the ranks to be home with his kids. Sam accepted that because he knew what his dad was doing, that it was worthwhile and important. He just wished that he'd been around more and he wanted to be able to give that to you. I told him that I'd trade dads. My dad was always there, but I never knew that he cared. I didn't tell my parents about what I did. They didn't care about it. My older brother was the golden child. He got all the good looks and charm. He didn't have to try for anything. Everyone loved him."

"Except you?" Tim asked.

Charlie looked back and him and laughed, shaking his head. "No. Including me. Darryl was a great guy, nice to everyone. I was a few years younger than he was and he treated me like I was just as good as he was. No one else ever did that. I wanted to be just like him, and imagine having a younger brother following you around everywhere. That could be really annoying, but Darryl never made me feel like he didn't want me around. His friends didn't want me there, but he convinced them to let me tag along. He could win over anyone, convince them to do anything just by smiling at them. You can't hate a guy like that when you know that it's all genuine. That was Darryl. If there could be a perfect person out there, he was pretty darn close to it."

"Was?"

Charlie nodded. "He got cancer his second year in college. It hit him so hard and fast that he didn't get a chance to fight it. The diagnosis came one week and he was dead less than a month later. After that, my parents considered their family over. The son they wanted was dead. The son that remained was the one they'd only had so that the son they wanted could have a playmate, and he could never fill that empty space. I can't tell you how glad I was to graduate and go to college to get away from the mausoleum that was my home. I never went back. Not once. They never asked me to come back. Not once. My mom is still alive, so far as I know. I haven't been contacted about the inheritance, although I guess I shouldn't depend on that. She might have found a charity that reminds her of Darryl. Dad died about ten years ago. I went to the funeral and no one there even knew who I was. They thought that Darryl was an only child. Mom barely recognized me, and she made it clear that she still didn't care. So I guess I should have qualified that. Since Darryl died, no one has ever cared to step in. That's why I joined the NROTC. I would have a built-in support system. I didn't think about it like that at the time. I was eighteen years old and just thinking that I'd have people to hang out with, people who weren't still in mourning four years later, people who wished that they could trade sons, even if they wouldn't say it out loud." Charlie actually sounded a little bitter for just a moment. Probably more than forty years later, he still felt some of that pain. Then, it was gone again. "That's when I met your dad. Sam reminded me a little of Darryl. Not quite the same but that same unconquerable spirit that just makes people like him. That's why I'm not surprised he's a successful professor. His enthusiasm would win over a lot of students, even if they didn't want to take the class. I never liked poetry, but Sam would quote it incessantly, and he _made_ me like it." Charlie laughed. "Or at least, he made me stop complaining about it because that would only make him recite it more."

Tim didn't want to feel bad for Charlie, but he couldn't help it. That was a sad history. Not abusive, not neglectful, really. It wasn't the kind of thing one could point to and say that it had warped his mind or anything. But it was still sad, and it explained a few things. It couldn't justify Charlie's decision. Tim wasn't sure anything could justify that. It just explained some aspects of who Charlie was.

Then, suddenly, Charlie smiled again, a little sardonically this time.

"Don't worry, Tim. I'm not going to expect that to make any difference. Remember that _you_ asked. I didn't bring it up, myself. Actually, I don't know that I ever even told Sam about much of it. Who wants to bring up that kind of thing in college, but I wouldn't have brought it up now if you hadn't asked."

"I know."

Then, Tim looked into the rearview mirror.

"Uh oh."

"What?" Charlie asked.

"Looks like they're making a move."

The car that had been following them for the last couple of hours suddenly swerved around Gibbs and Tony and sped up toward them.

"Now, what?" Charlie asked.

"Now, we try to avoid letting them do whatever it is they're planning on doing to us."

"Sounds like a good idea to me."

"Call Gibbs and see if he has any bright ideas," Tim said, and began to accelerate himself.

Charlie took the phone and dialed.

" _We see it, McGee,"_ Tony said.

"What do you want me to do?" Tim asked.

" _Don't get caught,"_ Gibbs said.

"What about police?"

" _Don't get caught by them, either. Keep heading to Chegwidden's place. We'll see if we can distract them."_

"Okay."

" _And McGee, don't get stupid all of a sudden,"_ Tony said.

"Wasn't planning on it."

Tim looked behind him and saw that Tony and Gibbs were speeding up, too. Other than that, they were more or less alone on the road at the moment. That was probably why their tail had decided to do something. Well, he wasn't the best at these kinds of things, but he had an idea to turn the tables a bit.

"I hope your seatbelt is on," Tim said.

"It is. Why?"

"Because I'm going to slow down. Very quickly."

"What?"

"Watch. I hope your seatbelts aren't broken."

Gibbs and Tony moved into the left lane, pursuing their tail, and Tim checked behind him once more. No one to get involved. He pushed on the brakes, not letting off and kept the brakes slowing them down until the tail and Gibbs and Tony were both speeding down the road, leaving Tim and Charlie far behind.

"Whoa! What are you–?"

"There's an exit coming up," Tim said. "It should be a junction to a highway that we can take going south and join back up with the interstate. It's not very busy and the speed limit is still pretty good. Once we get to Berkeley Springs, we have a lot of different choices of ways to go and if we stay on 522, we'll eventually end up back on the interstate. Out of sight. Hopefully."

"Yeah. Hopefully. What will your boss think of that?"

"I have no idea, but I'm not going to ask him right now. My decision."

Tim sped up and, at the next exit, he took it and sped off onto the road that led to 522.

There was no sign of anyone getting off with them. Tim turned them onto 522 and started going south once more. He would still head for Chegwidden's place unless Gibbs called him and told him otherwise.

 _I'm not being reckless. I'm being cautious._

But of course, now they were separated from Gibbs and Tony again.


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49**

"Hey! What's McGee doing?" Tony asked as Charlie's car suddenly slowed down, leaving them speeding off with the pursuer who now was not pursuing anyone.

"Trying to get away," Gibbs said.

He tried to put himself between the other car and Tim by keeping him from the exit ramp. It wouldn't solve everything, but it would give Tim a chance to get away.

"Don't call him," Gibbs said, noting Tony's move toward his phone. "We don't know if they're listening in."

Tony nodded and went back to hanging on for dear life while Gibbs pinned the other car in the left lane as multiple exits passed them by. They didn't try to hit them which told Gibbs that they had probably been instructed not to engage with anyone other than Tim (and possibly Charlie). There was no guarantee that it wouldn't change, though, so he tried to stay ready for anything.

"How long are we going to keep this up, Boss?" Tony asked.

"Until they get fed up with us."

"Oh, that's nice. Still headed to the same place?"

"Yes."

"All right."

The car kept trying to get around them, either to an exit ramp or just to lose this annoying interference. It slowed down and then sped up. Gibbs followed suit. Every so often, they'd be right next to each other and Tony would lean over and wave at the two men in the car. They glared, and one was on a phone.

"You think they're asking permission to kill us?" Tony asked.

"Maybe."

It _was_ always possible, but Gibbs figured that they'd keep up with the pattern already established. Intimidate those tangentially involved and wipe the real evidence off the map. That was why it was more important to let Tim and Charlie get away. They were probably considered fair game. Finally, the car swerved toward them, forcing Gibbs to go on the defensive. Then, the car accelerated away from them, far exceeding the speed limit.

"Going to follow them, Boss?"

"Nope. I don't care about them. I care about McGee."

He slowed down and let the car get away from them. There was definitely some satisfaction in knowing that they'd managed to be that frustrating and, hopefully, had managed to give Tim a cushion in getting away.

"Should I call or wait?" Tony asked.

"Wait," Gibbs said. "We know where they're headed."

"Yeah, ultimately, we do, but where they might have to go in between is a little different."

"Doesn't matter. McGee knows what he's doing. We have to trust him."

"I want to," Tony said, cautiously, "but...he's acting so different."

Gibbs smiled. "No, he's not."

"You don't think so?"

"How is he different?"

"He went rogue."

"He did that with Sarah."

"Not for very long."

"Because he didn't need to."

"He's acting like it's completely his responsibility."

Gibbs didn't even reply. He just raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay. But you have to admit that this is pretty extreme."

"The situation is extreme."

"So you're saying that he would react this way no matter what?"

"If it was family."

Tony thought about it for a few seconds and then nodded. Gibbs decided to add one more thing.

"When we found your car and you were missing, Ziva was ready to believe you were dead. Most of us did that. We didn't _want_ it to be true, but we were prepared for it to be true. Tim wasn't. He refused to believe it and he never did. He refused to give up."

Gibbs wasn't sure anyone had ever told Tony about that. Because of how the whole undercover thing had turned out, Tony hadn't really been in the mood for asking about it and everyone had just moved on. Tim certainly wasn't going to boast about his actions. He probably hadn't even considered it as something needing to be mentioned.

"This is who McGee is. Just because he hasn't _needed_ to be this way before doesn't mean it's not like him, now."

Tony nodded again, more thoughtfully.

"So let's get to Chegwidden's," Tony said. "Hopefully, McGee'll beat us there."

Gibbs nodded and increased his speed.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

" _...and he did give you a name?"_ Vance asked.

"Yes," Sam said. "He said his name was Bruce Danson, and it was either an alias or he's someone hidden because he claimed we'd never be able to find out who he was."

" _I don't suppose you thought to record the conversation?"_

"No. It didn't even cross my mind. I'm sorry."

" _No, that's all right. I don't like this, but they seemed to think that you knew about Agent McGee's activities."_

"Yes," Naomi said. "He acted like we were the ones calling all the shots."

" _Interesting. All right. I'm not happy about the way this whole thing is being conducted, and I feel like it's starting to pick up speed. I'm going to take some strides myself. I'd like to have you two here at NCIS for the time being, if you don't mind."_

"No, we don't."

" _Good. I'll send a couple of agents over with a car."_

"We can get there ourselves," Sam said.

" _I know that, but I'll feel better about it. They're escalating the level of contact with you and escalation never bodes well. What about your daughter?"_

"Out of the country."

" _Good. She should stay where she is until this is over. That's one less person they can try to use as leverage against you."_

"We told her that she should stay until we told her otherwise," Naomi said.

" _All right. We'll see how this shapes up and if necessary, you'll have guards tonight. It's sad that you have to worry about it like this, but that's the situation at present."_

"Understood. We'll be ready when they get here."

" _Good. We'll be extra cautious, probably more than we need to be and I want you to call when they arrive and verify their identities."_

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Naomi asked.

" _No, actually, but since I'm still not sure who all the players are, I'm not willing to take the chance."_

"Okay."

They said their good-byes and hung up.

"I can't believe the way this is turning out, Sam," Naomi said. "I would never have thought that there would be someone willing to do this to you."

"I wouldn't have thought of it, but I can believe it," Sam said, a little bitterly. "It's the same kind of politics that thought it was worth it to kill innocent civilians if it meant getting at someone else."

"Well, they're not getting away with it. Not this time."

"I hope not," Sam said. "Now, we should probably eat something before our ride gets here."

"Sounds good to me. I'll get it," Naomi said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Vance strode out of his office and down to Abby's lab without pausing. He was furious that the McGees were being attacked. It didn't matter that it wasn't physical. What mattered was that this was likely being orchestrated by someone in the government who had a lot of clout and was now using that clout for corrupt purposes.

The music was at a level that would make one's ears bleed, as Abby's music almost always was, but Vance was used to that, given that he had children.

"Ms. Sciuto," he said, loudly.

Abby spun around in shock.

"Director!" she said and then ran into her office and turned the music down.

"That's better," he said as she came out.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting anyone, especially not you."

"That's quite all right. I'm sure you drove any potential eavesdroppers away."

Abby chanced a smile. "Most secure place in the building."

Vance smiled in return. "I need you to do something for me."

"What's that?"

"I need you to find out who Bruce Danson is. He called the McGees and attempted to intimidate them and threatened Agent McGee's life. He said that was his name, but..."

"It might not be his real name."

"He also said that they'd never be able to find him."

Abby's eyes widened. "And you want _me_ to find him?"

"Yes."

"How quietly?"

"Not quietly at all. I want you to be as obvious as possible. In fact," Vance said, his smile widening just slightly, "I want you to make your search as loud as your music. If anyone contacts you about it, I want you to tell them that you are doing this under orders from the director of NCIS."

"I can do that, but... why?"

"Because I'm tired of these people trying to hide something that shouldn't be hidden. I'm going to try to force their hand and get them to _do_ something. They've been sneaking for as long as they can, making sure that everything is tipped in their favor before they make a move. That's not happening anymore," Vance said, sternly. "I'm not going to accept this. If you need to have a name to connect Danson to, try Stidden."

"Stidden? Like...Secretary of Defense Stidden?"

"The very same."

Abby's eyes widened and she swallowed.

"Wow."

"Exactly. Keep in mind, Ms. Sciuto, that this is not to be secret. If you need to ask people for help, do it. When they ask you why, tell them that I ordered you to do it. Be open and honest about this."

"And if I do find him?"

"Tell me. I'll give Ms. Long instructions that you are to be admitted no matter what."

"Really?"

"Really. ...but that is not a permanent situation, Ms. Sciuto."

Abby grinned. "I know."

"Good. Now, get to work, but wait to turn the volume up until I'm out of the lab."

"Yes, sir!"

Abby saluted and then went back to her stereo system, clearly waiting for him to leave before she got to work.

Vance left and was grateful that there was a wall between him and Abby's stereo as he heard the noise behind him.

If there was something to find, Abby would find it. He was sure of it, especially when she had carte blanche to do pretty much whatever she wanted.

They were accelerating things. He would respond in kind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The drive was pretty uneventful after the excitement of the chase, but Tim would take uneventful. Charlie was looking in the rearview mirror more often than he was looking forward, but there was no sign of the car that had been following them before.

"Looks like you may have shaken them."

"Good."

Tim chose to get off 522 and head toward the interstate in a longer, more circuitous route. It would take longer, but they'd have to be tracking him a lot more closely than he thought they were in order to guess that he'd do this.

It was mostly silent in the car again. While there had been an immediate danger, there was no need for real conversation and there was too much else going on for the awkwardness to reign supreme. However, now that they were just driving again, that awkwardness was there.

Tim couldn't help wondering whether or not Charlie felt it.

"So why didn't you ever join the Navy?" Charlie asked, suddenly.

"What?"

"The Navy seems to be a McGee family thing. Your dad was. I know your grandfather was, too. He was an admiral."

"Great grandfather, too," Tim said. "It _is_ a family thing."

"So why not you?"

"I get seasick," Tim said, hoping that Charlie wouldn't probe.

Alas, there was too much time and not enough distraction. Charlie smiled a little.

"I'll bet that's not the only reason. If you're anything like Sam, if that was the only thing holding you back, you'd just buy Dramamine in bulk."

Tim couldn't help it. He laughed at the image.

"So?"

"It just never seemed right for me. Dad never encouraged me to go into the Navy and, well, I'd seen what the Navy had done to him. I was a nerd all through school."

"But you still couldn't get away from the Navy completely. NCIS. Was it what you always wanted?"

"Once I knew it existed."

"Why?"

Tim shrugged and kept his eyes on the road, even as he shared things with Charlie that he couldn't have imagined sharing before.

"When I was little, all I knew was that something had happened that was wrong and it meant Dad couldn't be in the Navy anymore. I thought that, if I could become a cop, I could find out what really happened and Dad could be in the Navy again...even though I didn't want him to be."

"You didn't? Why not?"

Tim smiled slightly. "Because Dad was there all of a sudden. When I think back to before that last mission, Dad was only around sporadically. When he was there, we'd do fun things and I loved to be with him, but most of the time, he wasn't there. After the mission, after he left the Navy, he was there all the time and we still did fun things. I liked it and that's what I wanted. But I thought that, if Dad loved the Navy so much, I should get him what _he_ wanted, not just what I wanted." He sighed. "But I grew up and I realized that there was no way Dad could ever go back, and I saw that he didn't really want to. So I let it drop. ...until someone else made that impossible. If they had left Dad alone, I wouldn't have done a thing. They could have kept their secrets."

"Yeah. They brought it on themselves. The more you have to hide, the more you do to hide it," Charlie said.

"Like you?" Tim asked, pointedly.

Charlie nodded. "I only had one thing to hide, but it was a doozy. And I hid, but I'm a nobody, Tim. I have no authority over anyone. I never asked for authority over anyone. I have nothing to lose because I already lost it. I lost my friend. The people coming after Sam have a _lot_ to lose because they have power and position. Even if it's just Jerald who's doing all this, he's the Secretary of Defense. That's a position of prominence and authority. He won't want to give that up, and if this all comes out, he'll have to. Instead of dealing with what happened back then head-on, they're trying to hide it, and in order to do that, they have to use the power they have. They don't want to pay for what they did. No one does, really. Some people are willing to face it, but no one _wants_ to suffer for their choices. These are people who think they won't have to."

"Did you keep in contact with Stidden? After you left the Navy?"

"No. I never liked the guy. Don't forget that I was threatened, too. He was more like a jailer than a colleague. Once I was out, I tried to stay as far out as I could."

"What did you do for a living?"

Charlie laughed humorlessly. "I didn't have to do anything. I got money from my years of service in the Navy, although that wouldn't have been enough to live on since I left early. I had a lot of money from my parents. They may not have cared about me, but they had money to spare and they gave me a lot. After all, they didn't have anyone else to leave it to. I invested it very wisely. Oh, I did some car repair on the side, but I didn't need to. It was mostly to make me appear somewhat normal to my neighbors. I don't live large, never have. Because I grew up with everything I ever needed, I never worried about needing more."

Tim figured that, if Charlie was being honest about how he'd grown up, another reason for that was that he'd never had what he really wanted and he knew that having lots of money wasn't going to compensate for a lack of people in his life.

"Here comes I-66. That what you want?"

"Yeah," Tim said.

He got onto the interstate and finally started heading east, toward the Metro area. Chegwidden didn't live in D.C. itself, so they wouldn't need to deal with that traffic.

Once they were off the smaller roads, they made good time. Charlie was keeping an eye out for possible pursuit, but Tim was hoping that nothing else would happen.

After another hour, he got off the interstate and made his way to Chegwidden's house.

He was relieved to see Gibbs' car already parked in front.


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter 50**

"He's here," Gibbs said, looking out the front window.

Tony sighed with relief. "Good."

"I'm actually really interested to meet him," Chegwidden said, leaning over to look out the window. "He's been the catalyst in a lot of this case."

"He didn't start it," Tony said.

"A catalyst doesn't have to, Agent DiNozzo," Chegwidden said, with a smile. "A catalyst doesn't have to _start_ the chemical reaction. It can simply increase the rate at which the reaction occurs, and I think that it's very likely that Agent McGee fits _that_ definition perfectly."

Gibbs didn't reply to either man. Instead, he got up and walked out to the front, hiding his relief that Tim had actually followed through on the plan to meet up here. He hadn't been sure that he would, given Tim's reluctance to rely on them at all.

Tim and Charlie got out of the car, both looking a little awkward about the location, but Gibbs was seeing something else. No matter how much Tim would probably want to deny it, he seemed almost comfortable with Charlie. Gibbs could understand why that might happen, too. There was a reason Charlie had called himself the life of the party. All that charm must either have been trained into him at a very young age or else he just couldn't help it.

"Any problems?" Gibbs asked.

"Not once we got off the interstate," Tim said. "We got back on I-66 and it was a straight shot in. How about you?"

"We were annoying."

Charlie laughed.

"So...what now?"

"Now, we wait for Captain Coleman to get here. She's on her way. Come in."

Charlie and Tim walked into the house. Chegwidden was there.

"Hello, Agent McGee. I'm A. J. Chegwidden. I don't think we've actually met, but I've sure heard a lot about you."

"You have? From who?" Tim asked.

"Captain Coleman, mostly. I know there are a few people who would like to meet you, too."

Tim looked a little shocked. Gibbs knew why. For Tim, the last two weeks had passed in complete isolation. So it was hard to realize that other people might be talking about him when he was supposed to be out of sight.

"Like who?"

"Harm Rabb, for one, but he had to get back to his family. I think he wanted to meet your dad, as well."

"How many people know about this?" Tim asked.

"Not very many," Chegwidden said, "but more than you probably think. Anyway, we have a few minutes before Captain Coleman arrives. Who are you?"

"This is Charlie Leadore," Tim said, without any further explanation.

Charlie shook hands and then smiled slightly.

"I'm the traitor," he said. "I'm here to tell the real story about what happened thirty years ago."

Chegwidden raised an eyebrow, but he didn't make any commentary on that declaration.

"Well, come on in. Coffee for anyone?"

"Yes, please," Tim said.

"I'll take some, too," Charlie said.

"I hope you like it black."

"I don't, but I need some coffee," Tim said. "I'll take it any way you have it."

"Then, why don't you come into the kitchen and help me out, Agent McGee."

"Uh, sure."

Gibbs watched as Tim followed Chegwidden out of the room, looking a little bemused. Then, he turned his attention back on Charlie.

"Do you think they'll trace us here?" Charlie asked.

"Not very likely," Tony said. "I would have gone back to NCIS if it had been me planning it, and I think Gibbs would, too. We asked A. J. if he'd had any watchers, and he said that he hadn't noticed any, although he admitted that he wasn't necessarily looking for them. You nervous?"

"Of course. I had someone try to kill me yesterday. That hasn't happened for quite a few years, Agent DiNozzo. I'm out of practice."

"This is probably about the safest place until we move on this more openly," Gibbs said. "We annoyed the other guys enough that they left us alone."

"Yeah, they really hated us," Tony said, grinning. "Gibbs wouldn't let them get off the road and he wouldn't slow down, either, not until they really revved their engine and left us behind."

"Well, it sure seems to have worked," Charlie said. "I was watching for any sign of someone following us and we never saw anyone, not even when we got back on the interstate."

"That was the plan. Oh, I can't wait for you to meet Captain Coleman."

"Why?"

"She's very...precise," Tony said. "About everything. If she doesn't set her briefcase down perfectly aligned to the edge of the table, I'll be shocked."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Is she good at her job?"

"Oh, yeah. She's just as precise with the law as she is with her pencils."

"Interesting people around here," Charlie said.

"You don't know the half of it," Tony said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"So, Agent McGee, you seem a little overwhelmed," Chegwidden said.

Tim shrugged, and Chegwidden smiled. He didn't blame Tim for being unwilling to open up to a complete stranger. He started to get out some mugs.

"The coffee is in the cupboard just above your head. Why don't you get it started."

"Sure, okay."

Tim walked over and started to measure out the coffee grounds. It definitely wasn't fancy, but it was pretty high quality. It was quiet in the kitchen for a few seconds, only the clink of glass breaking the silence. The coffee started percolating, and Tim was just watching it, although he seemed a little awkward.

"Why are you involved in this, sir?" he asked suddenly.

"I'm not a 'sir', not anymore."

"Yes, you are. It's a respectful form of address. It's not an insult and as a former Admiral who served honorably, you deserve it. If Gibbs wasn't so against it, I'd call him that, too."

Chegwidden smiled.

"Sounds like you've been wanting to say that to someone for a while."

Tim flushed. "Maybe a little," he said, still looking at the coffee pot. "Why are you involved, though?"

"Captain Coleman asked me for advice, and I couldn't stay out of it once I knew what was happening."

"But this could be dangerous."

"Not so far, but it sounds like it has been for _you_."

Tim shrugged again. "He's my father. I couldn't just stand by. I have to be involved. You don't have to be."

"Yes, I do."

Tim looked at him, his brow furrowed.

"It's the right thing to do, Agent McGee. Surely, you don't think that you're the only person who is concerned about doing the right thing."

He flushed again and looked at the coffee pot. Chegwidden could see an almost-unconscious feeling of responsibility. It had to be what _he_ was doing. No one else was involved except him and his father. He knew better than that, but he was still thinking that way.

"If I could, I would have you talk to Harm. He could give you some pointers about getting sucked into situations. He's done that far too often and sometimes, it came back to bite him. In fact, there were a few times when he almost didn't get out of it alive. Wanting to save your father is a good thing. I'm not saying you shouldn't, but you have a lot of people wanting to help you. Let them."

"It's too dangerous," Tim said, staring hard at the counter.

Chegwidden raised an eyebrow. Tim was acting like a little kid who had been called on the carpet.

"Wouldn't you want to help if this was happening to someone else?"

No response, because Tim couldn't lie about it.

"You need to accept that you can't stop us from helping because we're not just helping you. We're helping your dad, and don't you think he deserves all the help he can get?"

Another moment of silence and then, Tim turned and looked back toward the living room. He finally made eye contact with Chegwidden.

"Do you think it could happen?" he asked, softly.

"What?"

"That my dad can get out of this."

Then, Tim's caution made sense. He wasn't letting anyone know that he had any doubts about that, but here was a complete stranger. He could ask the question he wanted to ask without letting anyone know that he'd even entertained the possibility of his attempt not succeeding.

"Yes. This is one time when secrecy might actually help. No one knows about this except for those of us who are directly involved. You have evidence to share?"

Tim nodded.

"Then, when they know we have it, they'll be much more likely to reconsider. Evidence made public wouldn't help them at all, but it could help your dad."

"I can't let him go to prison," Tim said, his voice low. "No matter what."

"I doubt he wants you to go in his place."

"It's too late for that. I've already broken the law. I did it in full knowledge of what I was doing. It wasn't done in ignorance. I'll have to go to prison whether he wants me to or not, but he did nothing wrong, and he shouldn't have to pay the price just because some important person doesn't want to pay the price he should."

"That's a pretty black-and-white way of looking at the world."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Tim said.

"It almost seems to me like you're trying to show how the bad guys should be acting, based on your own behavior. They should be giving in because they've committed crimes, and you're going to demonstrate."

Tim didn't answer. The coffee pot clicked over to the warming setting and Tim started filling the mugs.

"You're a very interesting person, Agent McGee."

Tim looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Because you have a very interesting view of the world and an extremely strong moral compass. Maybe too strong. You seem to _want_ to go to prison."

Then, Chegwidden was surprised once more by Tim. Tim shook his head instantly and there was a flash of genuine fear in his eyes.

"No. I really don't want to go to prison."

And he saw it all in a moment.

"But your dad is worth it."

"Just barely, but yeah."

Tim forced a smile and took a deep breath.

"Should we pour a mug for Captain Coleman, too?"

"Probably. I can't imagine that she'll be much longer."

The front door opened.

"Captain Coleman, how nice to see you again."

"As always, Agent DiNozzo, you leave me suspecting your sincerity."

Chegwidden chuckled.

"And there she is. It's like she knows when she's _expected_ to show up and makes sure she's on time."

Tim smiled.

"It's like Gibbs, only he does it because he wants to catch people doing something wrong."

"That's an interesting comparison, even as little as I know Agent Gibbs."

He set the mugs on a tray, simply to make it easier. Then, he walked out to the living room, Tim following behind him.

"Captain, I'm glad you made it. Any problems?" he asked.

Faith was looking around the living room, seeming a little nonplussed by all the people who were there. She looked at him.

"No problems, but I was expecting Agent Gibbs and DiNozzo." Her gaze shifted to Tim. "And possibly you, Agent McGee. Who are you?"

"Charlie Leadore," Charlie said. "It was my signature that made these accusations possible."

"Your signature?"

"I didn't write the report, but I signed it."

"And was it true?" Faith asked.

"No."

"Okay," she said and took a breath.

"Coffee, Captain?" Chegwidden asked.

"Yes, thank you."

Faith walked over and took a mug. Then, she walked back to Charlie and sat down. Everyone else sat down, except Tim. He was kind of hovering in the background. Faith looked at him.

"Agent McGee, you've been making my life difficult."

"I don't take any responsibility for that. I was trying to keep everyone out of it. It's Gibbs' fault you're involved."

Faith actually smiled a little bit.

"It usually is. Have you gained anything by it?"

"Yes."

"Is it more than Mr. Leadore, here?"

"Yes."

Then, Faith got very serious.

"And does it have to do with Secretary Stidden?"

"Yes," Tim said.

Another breath. "Okay. Now, Mr. Leadore, are you prepared to recant your report?"

"Yes."

"If that's the case, why didn't you do it before?"

"There was no reason to, as far as I knew," Charlie said, bluntly. "When this all went down, I was led to believe that I would be the one blamed if Sam wasn't and that all that would happen to Sam was that he would retire from the Navy. It's still wrong, but I thought I was saving myself with no real cost to anyone else. I left the Navy a year later. As far as I knew, it was all over. ...until Tim tracked me down and some people tried to shoot me."

Faith raised an eyebrow.

"It's true," Tim said. "Yesterday, when I went to Charlie's house, we had three people shooting at us."

"And someone was shooting at Tim a few days ago when _we_ tracked him down," Tony added. "And just today, we had to shake off someone following us."

"That's a lot more than they've been doing to the rest of us," Faith said.

"That's because you don't know anything," Tim said. "Charlie's account is important and I'm the one who's been looking for the information."

"Are you accusing the Secretary of Defense of attempted murder?"

"I can't do that," Tim said, honestly. "I don't know if he sent them, but someone did. Twice. Someone is guilty of attempted murder, and it must be someone who had something to gain and the power to get three people to do it."

"Of course." Faith focused back on Charlie. "How far are you willing to go? Are you going to back out at a crucial moment because you decided there's too much risk?"

"No," Charlie said, without any sign of defensiveness. "They've tried to kill me, and the fact that this could come up after thirty years means that I can't depend on being safe with it unresolved. They made the decision for me, but I'll stick with it."

"All right. What we need to do is figure out how best to use this information. I'm not going to ask you for details in an unsecured location. We might as well give lip service to the Top Secret classification."

Chegwidden sat listening to the discussion. He wasn't really needed, but he wouldn't dream of keeping out of it. His attention, however, was mostly on Tim. As he had said, Tim was an interesting person. He was far from objective about what was going on, but he was trying to be...at least about himself. This all mattered so much to him, though, that he would not accept any result other than his father being free. It was obvious that, while he could accept his own situation as just deserts, he could _not_ accept his father suffering at all. Why he had this intense feeling wasn't clear, but he could see it. Actually, he could see a little bit of Harm in Tim. Harm's father had been MIA rather than on trial, but Harm had gone far beyond what was necessary in order to find him once the possibility was raised.

Actually, Chegwidden was starting to think that, even though Harm had only just left a few days ago, it might be worthwhile to have him come back and commiserate with Tim. Harm's situation might be the kind that would lead Tim to open up about what he was feeling.

He'd have to wait and see how this all fell out.

And in the meantime, there was plenty else to worry about.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

There was a knock on the door and Vance looked up.

"Come in."

The door opened and SecNav walked in without any notification, not even from Pamela.

"Secretary Jarvis," Vance said, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Cut the bull, Leon. What are you doing?" Jarvis demanded.

Vance sat in his chair and raised his eyebrows at the brusque question.

"Currently, I'm sitting in my office, doing the work that needs to get done every day. How about yourself?"

"You're having your people conducting illegal searches."

"I wasn't aware that searching for criminals was considered illegal," Vance said coldly. "The man Ms. Sciuto is searching for called the father of one of my agents and threatened him. That's illegal."

Jarvis sat down.

"Which agent?"

"Tim McGee. I seem to recall you asking me about his fitness for work, given his father's upcoming trial."

"This is about _that_?" Jarvis asked.

"Yes. It is, and that's what _all_ of this is about."

"You're inserting yourself into a very delicate situation. I was contacted by Secretary Stidden and ordered to find out what was going on and to put a stop to it."

"I will not stop, either until I'm fired or until the law is upheld. Do _you_ know what you're getting into by getting involved?" Vance asked.

"I know that it's something personal to Secretary Stidden."

"In which case, he should hardly be giving orders about it. That would constitute a conflict of interest. Do you know who Bruce Danson is?"

"No."

"I don't, either, but he's the one who threatened the McGees, and he was getting orders from somewhere."

"Are you accusing Stidden?"

"Should I?"

"Don't play that game with me," Jarvis said.

"I'm not playing a game," Vance said, seriously. "Clayton, what's going on here is far too serious for games. Yes, I'm going out on a limb, but I'm doing it because I'm not willing to see an innocent man railroaded, not even for the sake of the Secretary of Defense. I will _not_ turn a blind eye to what's been done and what's _being_ done."

"You're telling me that you're going to disobey orders?" Jarvis asked.

"Yes. That's _exactly_ what I'm saying. I'm also saying that I am _disgusted_ by what's been going on for the last couple of weeks. You have a man and his wife being intimidated by unidentified men. You also have a JAG lawyer's office broken into and more attempts at intimidation."

"A JAG lawyer? Why?"

"Because she was asked to take on the case."

"So far as I know, there's no case to take on. The trial is upcoming, but it hasn't even been scheduled yet."

"Not officially."

Jarvis nodded. "I see."

"What are you going to do, Clayton?"

"I don't know."

Vance smiled. "You thought it was simple, didn't you."

"Your people do tend to step over the lines whenever it suits them. It should have been simple enough to stop that."

"They do, but in this case, someone else stepped over the line, first."

Suddenly, Vance's phone rang. He stifled a sigh. He didn't like to be interrupted in these situations, but it might be important. He answered.

"Yes, Ms. Long?"

" _You need to take this call, Director."_

"Put it through."

There was a click.

" _Vance, we've got McGee and we also have evidence that exonerates Sam McGee and implicates Secretary Stidden."_

Vance couldn't hide his surprise completely.

"That's quite the news. When did all this happen?"

" _Long story. We have Captain Coleman with us and she's getting as much of the story as it's safe to share."_

"And now what?"

" _Could you arrange some kind of meeting?"_

"With whom?"

" _People who need to hear what we found."_

"And who would that be?"

" _Secretary Stidden? Or maybe the government of Nicaragua?"_

"Are you willing to go that far?"

" _We might be."_

"Well, it just so happens that Secretary Jarvis is in my office. I'll see what he has to say. Hang on."

"What is it?" Jarvis asked.

"Agent Gibbs is apparently in possession of evidence that implicates Secretary Stidden himself."

"Implies that he's done what?"

"Whatever he has been trying to blame on Sam McGee. Last I heard, it was mass murder."

Jarvis' eyes were wide at that.

"Are you kidding?"

"No. Not a bit. Now, the question is how we proceed from here. The evidence isn't going away."

" _In spite of three people trying to kill McGee twice,"_ Gibbs added.

"And apparently, someone's been trying make that happen because Agent Gibbs just informed me that someone has been trying to kill Agent McGee."

Jarvis was quiet for a few seconds. Vance let him think. This was important and it could determine the direction that everyone took next.

"This goes above my head, Leon. Secretary Stidden is _my_ boss." He sat back and ran his hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew. "He has almost as much authority as the President. Okay. Let me make some calls."

"To whom?"

Jarvis raised an eyebrow. "Not to Secretary Stidden if that's what you're worried about. Like I said, this goes above my position. I need to talk to people who can possibly do something about it. I can't, not on my own. Tell Agent Gibbs to sit tight where he is. Is he secure?"

"How secure are you, Agent Gibbs?"

" _Unless they plan on an all-out assault on the home of a former admiral, we're fine."_

"They're secure enough, for now."

Jarvis stood.

"Then, I'll be in touch. This might not end well for you or for me."

Vance smiled slightly. "As long as it ends well for Sam McGee. He did nothing wrong."

"I wish he had."

Then, Jarvis left the office, and Vance leaned back in his chair.

" _Well?"_

"I hope this is what you wanted. Something's starting, Gibbs. I don't know what, and I don't know how it will turn out, but the wheels are in motion and none of us can stop them, now."


	51. Chapter 51

**Chapter 51**

"We should call Sarah," Naomi said.

Sam turned in his chair from his contemplation of the Yard, through a window.

"What?"

"I get the feeling that things are going to start moving and we should call Sarah and tell her."

"Tell her what?" Sam asked. "That something might be happening soonish?"

Naomi smiled. "Yes. She'll never forgive us if we don't at least tell her something."

"I think we should wait until we actually know. I think that we're going to find something more out today. Director Vance didn't seem inclined to leave things sitting for long. Let's wait a little longer."

Before Naomi could answer, the door opened, revealing Vance himself.

"Director Vance," Sam said. "Is there something you needed?"

"No. Actually, I have some news for you."

"Good news?"

"Good-ish," Vance said, smiling a little. He sat down on a chair near Sam and Naomi walked over to join them.

"What is it?"

"Agent Gibbs and Agent DiNozzo found your son."

Sam felt his heart clench and he leaned forward, earnestly.

"Tim is all right?" he asked.

Naomi grabbed Sam's arm and squeezed it.

"He didn't say anything differently to me. They're not here yet because there are some final pieces that need to be put in place, but your son, Agent Gibbs, Agent DiNozzo and Captain Coleman are making plans to share whatever evidence your son has uncovered."

"He found something?" Naomi asked, in surprise.

"Apparently. They didn't want to share anything specific over the phone, as you might guess. As soon as I know exactly where they are and when they'll be here, I'll tell you, but I know you've been worrying about him and I wanted to let you know that much."

"Thank you," Sam said. "I feel better just knowing that."

Vance nodded. "I'm afraid I can't give you any guarantees on how the rest of this will play out."

"We understand," Naomi said. "It feels like things are speeding up."

"They are. I think that there will be a meeting that will determine how the rest of this plays out, and I think it will be tomorrow morning at the latest. It might even be today."

"Why so quickly all of a sudden?"

"Because of what Tim found, right?" Sam asked.

"In part, but also because of me," Vance said and smiled. "I'm pushing and I don't usually do that."

"Any progress on finding the man who called me?"

"No, not yet, but there may be something to find, given that there was a reaction to Ms. Sciuto's search so quickly. So for now, I hope you don't mind just staying here. It's not very exciting and it's not very comfortable, but until I can see where it's headed, this will simply be safer."

"We'll stay. What about tonight?" Naomi asked. "Sam doesn't have very good circulation and he needs a real bed, if possible."

"I can manage one night, Naomi," Sam said.

"Maybe, but you shouldn't."

Vance nodded.

"If it comes down to not wanting you back at the place you're renting, we'll make arrangements for a secure space with a real bed."

"Thank you."

Vance nodded once more and left them in the conference room.

"They found him," Sam said.

"And Tim found something."

"I know. ...but I have to admit that I'm almost sorry he has. That means he'll know what the mission was and everything that happened." Sam reached out and took Naomi's hand. "I never wanted Tim to know about that part of my life."

"He won't think any less of you," Naomi said.

"I hope not."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

After getting the news that they would have to wait for a while, Tim suddenly felt like he was suffocating. He excused himself and withdrew to a place where he could be alone. He didn't know why he felt that way, but once he was in the study with the door closed, he took a deep breath and sat down.

No matter what Gibbs said, Tim was sure prison was in his near future. He just couldn't see that there was any way to prevent it. This wasn't like with Sarah when he'd simply hidden her for a few hours rather than go to NCIS. This was a serious crime. The idea that Gibbs could do anything to change that was ridiculous. Certainly, he couldn't see that his father had a chance of making a difference. Tim knew that Sam would hate his son going to jail, but Tim felt that he would have hated seeing Sam in prison or dead a lot more.

But he still didn't want to go to prison. And what if this didn't end up working out? What if it didn't make the difference he thought it would? What if they still managed to find a way to make Sam take the blame? What if? What if? What if? The questions swirled around in his head, but mostly, he was thinking about going to prison.

He sat in silence, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together, eyes closed. He didn't know how much time passed. Maybe he should go back out to the living room, but he really wanted this solitude.

Then, the door opened. Tim thought about seeing who it was, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to bother. He just sat where he was.

Whoever it was sat down beside him and he felt a hand on his back. Again, that annoying tightness in his throat. No. He was not going to cry. This was not the time for it, and he would not weaken himself by giving in to that feeling. There was no reason to cry right now. None.

The silence wasn't broken, and that told Tim who was sitting beside him. No one else in this house could stay silent for so long.

After a few minutes, Tim heard a deep breath.

"Time to go, Tim."

Tim sat up and looked at Gibbs.

"Already?"

"Guess they didn't want to waste any more time."

"Where? NCIS?"

"Nope."

"No?" Tim asked in surprise. "Then, where?"

"The State Department."

"What?"

"This isn't just about your dad, McGee. It's about something that could potentially damage international relations and the U.S. reputation. If we're not going to the Secretary of Defense, we have to go to someone who is just as powerful."

"I guess. Will my parents be there?"

"I'd be surprised if they weren't."

Tim nodded. He didn't want to see them until he knew that he'd succeeded. He couldn't face them unless he had that support because he knew what their reaction would be, especially when they knew what he'd done.

"You can't avoid them forever," Gibbs said.

"I know." Tim didn't explain his reticence. He knew Gibbs could see his feelings about it.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

Tim stood up and followed Gibbs out into the living room again.

"How are we going to do this?" he asked.

Chegwidden smiled.

"You're done driving, Agent McGee. I'm going to take you and Charlie."

"Why?"

"With the idea that they'll be more reluctant to go after a former admiral and head of JAG. My death would be more risky for them."

Tim wanted to protest, but he didn't see that he really had much choice in the matter. It was all coming down to this, and he could see Chegwidden's expression. He _expected_ Tim to say something against it.

"Gibbs and I are going with Captain Coleman," Tony said. "It'll be a blast."

"I doubt that, Agent DiNozzo," Faith said, although there was a bit of a smile on her face as she said it.

"Oh, you know you'll love it. You can't deny that we make your life interesting."

"There is that. I was wondering why it was I always dreaded hearing your name."

Tony just laughed, and Tim wished that he could be as lighthearted. Still, he didn't say anything about that. He looked at Charlie and raised an eyebrow.

"You ready?" he asked.

"I don't see that I have much to lose," Charlie said. "However, if you want me to be able to do my part, you'd probably keep me from your parents. I'm sure they'll have a competition about who gets to take me down, first."

Tim didn't mention his own desire to avoid his parents.

"Let's just get going," Chegwidden said. "The sooner we get there, the sooner you'll know the results of all this."

There was some caution as they left the house, but if there were any watchers, they were remaining well-hidden. Tim and Charlie climbed into Chegwidden's car while Tony, Gibbs and Faith got into Gibbs' car. Then, they were off.

"Have you ever been to the State Department, Agent McGee?"

"No," Tim said.

"Have you, Charlie?"

"No," Charlie said. "The only places I ever went here in DC were either CIA-related or on a naval base. I haven't been back here in more than 25 years."

Tim couldn't get over how normal Charlie sounded. He was just a regular guy. ...who happened to have betrayed his best friend to save himself.

...and who claimed to regret it.

"Do you know who we'll be meeting with?"

"I believe Agent Gibbs said something about the Secretary of State, maybe along with SecNav, and maybe the Attorney General."

Tim's stomach instantly tied in knots. Members of the President's Cabinet? Somehow, in all his ideas about how this might play out, he'd never considered the idea that he'd be talking to such important people.

The trip into DC was uneventful and mostly silent. Tim felt like there was a lead balloon in his stomach that was slowly getting heavier and heavier. He wondered if he'd be able to walk like a normal person.

"What's that sound?" Charlie asked from the back seat. "Can you hear that?"

Tim swallowed.

"It's gone now. Maybe it was my imagination."

Chegwidden looked over at Tim, and Tim flushed but said nothing. He'd been grinding his teeth. It had been a long time since he'd been tense enough to do that.

"We're almost there," Chegwidden said. "It's coming up in a couple of blocks."

"Okay," Tim said.

They pulled in just behind Gibbs' car. There was no parking at the State Department, but they weren't risking Tim and Charlie out on the street in DC. Instead, Chegwidden dropped them off at the door with Faith and Tony. Then, he and Gibbs headed off to park.

"Are you ready for this, Agent McGee?" Faith asked.

Tim nodded.

"Good. Let's get inside."

Tim nodded. He and Charlie followed Faith and stood silently as she explained that they had a meeting scheduled and that Gibbs and Chegwidden would be coming behind in a few minutes. Tim's mind was only vaguely on what was being said. Instead, he was thinking about the fact that everything he'd been planning was finally coming to fruition (he hoped). Charlie was here to tell the truth. He could share the information about the correspondence he'd found.

 _And then, I can go to jail._

Tim was more than a little irritated that he couldn't stop thinking about that part of it. He was supposed to be doing this for his dad, and he couldn't let himself get sucked into worrying about his own fate, especially when he'd willingly chosen it. He sternly told his mind to knock it off.

"Agent McGee, Mr. Leadore, let's go," Faith said.

Tim nodded and followed after her into a place he'd never been before.

In spite of the fact that this was the building that housed the office of one of the most important Cabinet members, it really did look a lot like a normal office building.

"Captain Faith Coleman, here to see Secretary Drake."

"Have a seat, ma'am."

"Thank you."

The four of them walked over to a small alcove with a few chairs beside a window. Faith sat down and set her briefcase beside the chair. Tim glanced at Charlie and saw that he'd noticed her exact alignment. She did it so effortlessly. Tim was almost envious. He felt far too clumsy to ever manage something like that.

"How long will we have to wait, do you think?" Charlie asked.

"Are you in a hurry, Mr. Leadore?"

"Actually, yeah. It's been very interesting meeting you all, but this isn't exactly a place where I feel comfortable. I'd like to get my part done and over with."

"I don't blame you, but I think you'll find that it's a little more complicated than that."

"I'm not surprised."

"This meeting was set up rather at the last minute. I'm not surprised that it's taking a bit of time to get everything ready."

"Captain, I should have known that it was you dragging me over to the State Department."

Faith looked up, and if possible, she straightened even more than she already had been.

"General Cresswell, I wasn't aware you'd been invited."

Cresswell smiled and sat down.

"Well, it's kind of a party crash. Director Vance told me about this meeting and said that you were going to be there. I figured it might be a good idea to have a little official support, given the situation."

"I appreciate it. This is Charles Leadore, a witness to what happened thirty years ago, and this is Agent Tim McGee."

"In the flesh," Cresswell said, smiling just a little bit. "You've been causing quite a few headaches in this town."

"Good," Tim said. "They started it."

The smile widened. "From what I've heard, that's true enough."

"Do you know how this is going to play out, General?" Tony asked.

"No, not a clue. I doubt that we'll all be invited to this meeting. I'm sure Captain Coleman will invite herself if she's not, but you and anyone else not directly involved will have to wait. Even I may not be a part of it. Agent McGee and Mr. Leadore will definitely be in there. I know Director Vance is bringing the McGees with him, but they may not be invited in, at least not initially."

Tim felt his heart sink. He didn't want to see his parents. Not yet.

"But it's all about Sam, isn't it?" Tony asked.

"Not really," Faith said. "It's about whoever started this, and Dr. McGee simply is the unfortunate recipient of those problems. He might be asked for his side, but it's not really about him."

Then, a young man approached them. He looked to be around college age.

"Captain Coleman, Agent McGee and Mr. Leadore, please come with me. I'm afraid you will have to stay," he said, gesturing for Tony to sit back.

Faith stood up, picking up her briefcase as she did.

"Thank you."

Tim and Charlie both stood and the three of them followed through the hallways to a light and bright conference room. There was a long table with a number of chairs on either side. Sitting in one of them was Secretary Drake. He was flanked by a man and a woman Tim didn't recognize.

"Thank you, Mr. Beechman. That will be all," Secretary Drake said. "Captain Coleman, Agent McGee, Mr. Leadore, please have a seat."

The door closed behind them, and Tim stepped forward, trying to keep himself from showing his fear at being in the presence of such an important and powerful person. He didn't know anything about Secretary Drake except his name and his position.

The atmosphere in the room was rather chilly and unwelcoming, and Tim couldn't help but think that this meeting should have been held in a dark and foreboding room because all these windows didn't make things any better. It just made things feel strange.

There was a long, unpleasant silence. Tim tried not to fidget.


	52. Chapter 52

**Chapter 52**

Finally, Secretary Drake took a breath.

"All right. It shouldn't need to be said that what happens in here is classified. Top Secret as everything else has been. You are not at liberty to share this with anyone. Is that understood?"

He looked at each one of them. Faith answered right away, with Tim and Charlie a little slower on the uptake.

"Good. Now, here's how this will go. I will tell you what has been going on in the State Department and what I have been told. Then, I will give you a chance to make your case, but I expect you not to interrupt me, Agent McGee. I understand that you are concerned about your father, but this is far more serious than one man, innocent or guilty. I expect you to be professional."

"Yes, sir," Tim said, softly.

"Good. About two months ago, I had a meeting with the ambassador from Nicaragua. He informed me that there was evidence that the U.S. had conducted a raid which had resulted in the killing of hundreds of people. When I asked what their evidence was, they showed me the following pictures."

The unnamed woman silently slid a file across the table. Faith looked at them, first. Then, she looked at Tim significantly and handed them over. Tim opened the file and was conscious of Charlie leaning over to look as well.

But Charlie didn't look for very long. He swore and leaned back very quickly. His eyes closed.

"Politz."

"You know him, Mr. Leadore?"

"Yes," Charlie said. "That's...what's left of Ed Politz. He was killed when some kind of explosive went off. He and Archer and Flores."

Tim looked at the photos. Whatever it had been, the explosive had been vicious. Politz looked like he'd been torn apart by the shrapnel. The other dead bodies were harder to identify, so bad were the wounds. Tim understood, now, what Charlie had meant about what he had seen back then. He had watched this happen to these men. The explosion that had nearly blinded Sam had killed others.

"They also gave us these dog tags."

The woman handed Faith a pouch. She passed it down to Charlie without opening it. Tim watched as Charlie pulled out the dog tags. One of them looked like it had almost been melted. Others were corroded with age.

"So you know these people?" Secretary Drake asked.

"Yes," Charlie said, his voice a little tight. "They were on the team."

Tim thought that Secretary Drake was a little disappointed. Maybe he'd been hoping that this would all just go away.

"The last thing I was shown were these photos of what remained of the village that they claimed we destroyed."

Charlie looked up from the dog tag he was holding.

"Is it necessary that I see that, sir?" he asked. "I wasn't ever there."

"Yes, it is."

"All right."

Faith passed the file down. Tim opened it.

The village hadn't been large, based on what he was seeing, but he could see far too many dead bodies. Men, women, children. All dead. This was not Hollywood. This was not even the evening news. It was simply horrific. Tim didn't know what Charlie was feeling, but he was shocked at the carnage. Who would be able to order these people killed?

Someone who didn't have to see it happen.

Charlie looked, nodded and then looked away. His hands were shaking a little as he put down the dog tags and then slid them across the table.

Secretary Drake didn't comment on Charlie's obvious distress.

"This is what they showed me. With the confirmation that you were, indeed, in this area, this meeting can continue. I asked them why this was coming up thirty years later. It was mostly a delaying tactic because, in reality, it doesn't matter why they did nothing about it back then. There are plenty of reasons. The ambassador then gave me his ultimatum. They wanted to know who was responsible for this and, if that person was still alive, they wanted him or them punished for it."

Silence fell again. Tim looked at Secretary Drake. He seemed to be waiting for something. Then, Tim looked at Charlie. His expression was wooden and his hands were clasped tightly together. No matter how angry Tim had been, he couldn't help but feel some sympathy for Charlie. There was no way to avoid knowing the details when he'd seen them himself years before. Tim knew that Sam almost never mentioned that time period. He hated the memories, too.

"If we refused, they would take this before the ICJ, and with the photographic evidence, it pointed to a complete political nightmare when we have plenty of them already. So I promised that I would look into it, and they agreed to give me the time to do so."

"May I ask how much time, sir?" Faith asked.

Secretary Drake nodded. "There was no set time frame, but I expect to hear from them again relatively soon. They'll want to know what progress has been made, but even they can admit that finding out events of thirty years ago, especially when not officially sanctioned by the government, might take some time."

Faith nodded and sat back again, indicating that she was satisfied with the answer.

"Through various meetings, Secretary Stidden learned of my investigation, and he brought to my attention that he knew of the operation and claimed that he could produce the necessary documentation to show who had been at fault. It seemed like the answer I needed. Who better than the man who had been leading the operation."

Tim tensed, and he felt Faith tap his foot. He was not allowed to speak at the moment, and shouting would only make things worse. He tried to relax.

"I received two reports from the only surviving members of the special ops team, and that was my first indication that it wouldn't be straightforward. We had two conflicting reports of what happened, but then, Secretary Stidden vouched for the second-in-command's account. Still, this was a U.S. citizen. So I arranged for him to be informed of the upcoming charges. He needed the chance to form a defense, although I felt it was unlikely to result in much. The best he could probably hope for was that he could serve out his time in the U.S. rather than in Nicaragua where he would likely be killed, even if he was only sentenced to prison."

Tim started chewing on the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep himself from speaking. He had been told he'd get his chance. He had to wait.

"Then, suddenly, I'm told that this man has been subjected to intimidation by unknown people, that his son has nearly been killed twice while searching for evidence, and that his lawyer has also been intimidated. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Faith said. "I can bring in one of the people who was asked to intimidate me, if necessary. He was ordered to do so by his superior, at the behest of another man whom he could not identify, but described to me."

Secretary Drake nodded. "That may be necessary, but not for now. This makes everything else a lot more complicated. So, now, I need to hear your account of what happened back then, Mr. Leadore. I have been told that your official report is inaccurate."

"It is, sir. In fact, it's a lie," Charlie said.

"And why did you lie?"

"Because I was told that I had to or else take the blame myself."

"And who told you that?"

Charlie hesitated, but then, he straightened a bit in his seat.

"Jerald Stidden, who was acting as the CIA liaison with the Navy at the time."

"And you did it?"

"Yes. Someone else wrote the report, but when I was told to sign it, I did. They assured me that Sam was going to be leaving the Navy anyway, and he'd never know. That was also a lie."

Secretary Drake nodded.

"All right, then. Tell me the truth, now."

"First, may I ask a question?"

"Go ahead."

Charlie gestured toward the photos and the dog tags. "Sam doesn't need to see these things, does he? He had been blinded and was critically injured for most of that. He's never seen what happened to his men, and he was torn apart just _knowing_ how many had died. He doesn't need to see what I saw. He doesn't need to see the photos of our team or of that village that he tried so hard to save. Please, sir. Spare him that."

Secretary Drake's expression was unreadable. Tim figured that he would need to be able to control himself very well in order to the highest ranking diplomat in the U.S. One didn't get to that point by being obviously upset or understanding.

"You said he was blind?"

"Yes. Everything up to the time of the ambush is likely accurate. We were sent there because the Sandanistas had been establishing secret bases near the border of Honduras with the intention of being able to reach into both Honduras and El Salvador. That was considered unacceptable. We didn't know our mission until we got there, but our job was to find one of the bases and, if possible, destroy it. We took a long time finding it, and it turned out that it had been built into a hillside, directly beneath the village. Sam didn't know if it had been placed there because of the village or if the village had been built there to hide the base. Either way, these were real people living there. Sam refused to kill them, and there was no way to destroy the base without also destroying the village. We didn't have a big enough force for a pitched battle. He ordered me to report back."

"To whom?" Secretary Drake asked.

"I don't know. I can't even remember if I knew back then. It was a long time ago and I tried to forget it."

"Go on."

"The orders were unchanged. We were supposed to destroy the base, no matter what. Sam refused. He forced them to arrange our extraction. But we were discovered by the soldiers just when it was time to leave. We had to retreat in a hurry. Larson was killed before they were able to withdraw. The rest of us headed for the rendezvous. While we were running, there was an explosion." Here Charlie stopped for a moment and took a breath. "Flores was closest to it. Archer and Politz were just a few steps away, but Sam was even with Flores and Flores protected him from the full blast, but even at that, Sam was almost killed. The way he looked, I would have thought he _was_ dead, but he was speaking, saying that he couldn't see. We got him upright and kept going. Right as we got to the helicopter, they caught up again. Dillan was shot and killed. Standford took multiple rounds, and Crespo had already been nearly killed by the explosion before. We got the survivors on the chopper and started taking off. I thought we were free and clear, but the pilot circled back and destroyed the village. He said he'd been given orders. It was a few weeks after we got back to San Diego that I was told what was going to happen. This was going to be buried, and it was either Sam or me."

"So, in a nutshell?"

"The short story is that Sam did _not_ order that strike. He did not get the team killed. He is not responsible for that. He did his best to save them, although he knew that it wouldn't necessarily have the result he wanted. He is not responsible for the village being destroyed. He would never have done it. A fight with another unit is one thing. Innocent families is another, and Sam was never willing to sacrifice the innocent and he'd never kill a child, not even from a distance."

"What if you're wrong about this assessment?" Secretary Drake asked.

Charlie smiled humorlessly. "Even if I am and Sam was corrupt as the livelong day, he was in no state to give that order. He couldn't have. He was barely conscious and he couldn't see anything. _I'm_ the one who told _him_ about what happened to the village. He passed out almost right after that and didn't wake up for days."

Secretary Drake nodded and then focused on Tim.

"Agent McGee, you claim that you have evidence to back up Mr. Leadore's statement?"

"Not exactly, sir. Mr. Leadore _is_ my evidence that my father is not guilty. He wrote a report, and the only evidence against that report is Mr. Leadore's contradiction. He's now retracted it, meaning that there is _no_ evidence that my father is guilty."

"So you have nothing else?"

"I have evidence showing that Secretary Stidden was likely complicit in both the strike on that village and in the coverup that followed."

"And what is that evidence?"

"Correspondence between Secretary Stidden and the then-Secretary of Defense, discussing the initial formation of the team, my father's refusal to fulfill the orders to destroy the village and base, and Secretary Stidden stating both that Mr. Leadore would follow orders and that he would take care of the problem himself if he was given a free hand."

Secretary Drake raised an eyebrow.

"Where did you find all this?"

"I hacked the Department of Defense," Tim said, bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"I hacked the Department of Defense and found where the correspondence had been stored."

"And you're just outright admitting that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you think that, because you see yourself as being on the right side, you'll be excused for that?"

Tim shook his head, although he tried not to show any of his fear of what was going to come from this. He straightened in his seat and tried to show nothing more than determination.

"No, sir. I don't expect any mercy from the government. I expect to be punished for it, probably severely because of the potential fallout. What I did was both criminal and premeditated. I spent nearly a week just trying to get in. However, I promise that when I did get into the DoD, I only looked at information pertaining to my father's case."

"Is that supposed to be an improvement?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I swear that I did not compromise anything else. The only information I took from it was directly related to the case. I used a laptop to do the hacking. If you want to, you can take it and have your people analyze every keystroke and every file. You'll find nothing on there unless it relates to my father and his last mission."

Again, no comment on that. Tim wished that Secretary Drake would say _something_ about all this. He was more stoic than Gibbs, and that was saying something.

"I will give you the correspondence I found. If my father is free to live the rest of his life, then, this will be worth it for me. I realize that you have to consider reputation and political fallout, but I don't. What I saw was my father, an innocent man, about to be destroyed by someone who was unwilling to admit to his guilt. I couldn't let that happen, no matter the cost."

"Even if it means throwing your own life away?"

"Even then. I thought about that before I started, and I decided that it was a worthwhile sacrifice to make. Even if I am prosecuted to the full extent of the law and have to serve the next twenty years in prison, I am willing to do that if it saves my father."

"You didn't trust the justice system?"

"No, and given what I've been told, I see no reason to think I was mistaken, sir. I mean no disrespect, but you said it yourself. You were giving him a chance to mount a defense, but you saw him as guilty. You didn't have any real expectation that things would turn out differently, even though, by your own admission, the only direct evidence you had were two conflicting reports. You were hoping for a quick resolution to an embarrassing event. Even if I don't believe you would intentionally convict an innocent man, it took a lot of work on my part to find the evidence I found. You would have had to spend that time, and it doesn't sound like you wanted to."

Tim saw Faith stir just slightly. Yes, this could be stepping over the line as far as what he could get away with, but Tim didn't see that he had much to lose, and this needed to be said. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't crying. He was remaining as calm as he could, hopefully showing none of his tension and anxiety, but he was saying the words.

"My father nearly died in the Navy thirty years ago. Then, he nearly died in a car accident when I was sixteen, and he's paralyzed. I am not willing to see him thrown to the wolves, now, not to help someone save face."

No reaction. Just silence.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Secretary Drake said, sharply.

The door opened and the same young intern who looked terrified at coming into the room hurried over to the table.

"I was told to give this to you, sir," he said softly. "Right away."

He held out a folded piece of paper. Secretary Drake took it and gestured for the intern to leave, which he did, looking relieved.

Secretary Drake read the paper and then looked at the three of them.

"You said that you could produce the evidence of your claims against Secretary Stidden?"

"Yes, sir. Agent Gibbs has a flash drive with all the information on it."

"He knows what's on it?"

"No, sir." Tim couldn't help smile just a little bit. "Agent Gibbs wouldn't even know how to open a file on a flash drive. I haven't told anyone the details except you and those in this room."

Secretary Drake didn't react, but Tim noticed that his two silent compatriots suppressed smiles.

"Very well. Do you have anything else to add?"

"No, sir. I've shared what I know and Mr. Leadore has done the same."

"And you believe that Secretary Stidden is to blame for all this?"

"Yes, but I admit that when it comes to the people who tried to kill me, I didn't get a good look at them and I don't even know if I could identify them if I saw them again. But it has to be someone who has something to gain from it. Secretary Stidden was involved in this operation thirty years ago. He threatened Mr. Leadore to get what he wanted back then. Why would it be any different now when he has more to lose and more authority to give orders?"

"All right. I need to have a discussion before I let you know my decision. Mr. Beechman will take you back to where you were waiting."

They stood and walked out of the room.

"How do you think that went?" Charlie asked when Tim said nothing.

"I have no idea," Faith said. "You went over the line, Agent McGee."

"I know," Tim said, "but it needed to be said. And I was being honest. I really wasn't trying to insult him. I was laying out why I made the decision I did."

Actually, Tim was amazed that he was walking normally, that he was able to answer her without his voice shaking. He wasn't sure he'd ever been so tense in his entire life.

They followed the intern back to the same place they'd waited before. Cresswell and Tony were still there, and they'd been joined by Chegwidden and Gibbs.

Tim said nothing to any of them. He just walked to the nearest chair and sat down heavily. Then, he leaned forward and stared at the floor. He wished he could run away from all this.

"Did it not go well?" Tony asked, hesitantly.

"I don't know," Faith said. "He let us speak, but he didn't tell us his decision, if he's even made it yet. He said he needed to talk to other people, first."

"Who?" Cresswell asked.

"I don't know. He didn't say."

Suddenly, Tim heard something behind him. He sat up and turned around quickly.

"Dad," he whispered.


	53. Chapter 53

**Chapter 53**

Tim had hoped that this wouldn't happen, but there Sam was, Naomi standing beside him. They both looked more than a little shocked to see him.

"Tim..." Naomi said.

Everyone else was forgotten. Tim found he couldn't look them in the eye. He knew that they would be disapproving of what he'd done, and he couldn't even say that it had been worth it because he didn't know if it had succeeded.

All in all, he wasn't happy to see his parents.

But at the same time, he couldn't just sit there or pretend he hadn't seen them. That would make a bad situation even worse.

He looked up and saw Tony staring at him. He tried to smile, but he couldn't. Instead, he got up and walked over to his parents.

There was no bravado. There was no confidence. At this point, all Tim felt he had left was uncertainty and disappointment.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly, dropping his eyes to the floor again. "I don't even know if anything I did made a difference. I might have failed completely. You might still go to prison."

That feeling of failure that had been hovering over him ever since he'd started this attempt started to crush him, and Tim didn't think he could say anything else without breaking down and looking like an idiot.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Then, a rough, calloused hand caught his arm and pulled him down. Before he knew it, he was being hugged tightly. For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then, he heard his father's voice in his ear.

"No, Tim. I know what you're feeling right now, and you need to not look at it that way. If you did what you could, you didn't fail."

"Yes, I did. If you aren't free, I failed."

"No. If I still end up in prison, all that means is that the bad guys stacked the deck too much and no one could win. It doesn't mean you failed. And the only thing you have to apologize for is that the bathroom still isn't finished."

Tim laughed a little, but then, that led to the one thing he had been trying so hard not to show since this started.

He started to cry.

"I can't lose you, Dad. I can't. I can't watch you fade away again."

He felt another set of arms around him, this time from behind.

"It's all right, Tim. It's going to be all right. It's not over yet," Naomi said.

"It could be," Tim said.

"It's not. Not yet. Director Vance is talking to Secretary Drake, right now."

"What?" Tim pulled back and looked at Sam and then back over his shoulder at Naomi. "Why?"

"He just said that he had a few things to share with him. He didn't say anything more."

Tim stood up and was instantly pulled into another hug.

"Tim, you didn't have to do this," Naomi said, so only he could hear. "We didn't want this for you."

"I know, but I couldn't have lived with myself if I didn't," he said, just as softly.

Naomi hugged him more tightly.

"I know. As soon as you left, I knew why you did, but you didn't need to."

"Yes, I did. For myself, even if I didn't need to for Dad."

Naomi pulled back and looked him in the eye.

"Never feel ashamed to see us, Tim. There is nothing you need to worry that we'll reject you for."

Tim hugged Naomi back. Then, the three of them headed to where everyone else was pretending that they hadn't been watching. For the first time, Tim thought about Charlie being there and how that might go, but when he neared the sitting area, he realized that Charlie was _not_ there. His eyes widened slightly and he looked at Gibbs with a silent question. Gibbs just nodded, and Tim took that to mean he didn't need to worry.

Actually, it was a relief to be away from him for a while. He still couldn't decide what he felt about Charlie, now that he knew so much about him and about what had happened.

Quickly, he wiped the residual tears from his eyes, trying to get back some of his cloak of supposed strength that he'd momentarily lost. It wouldn't do to fall apart right now. There was no reason to. It wasn't over yet. Not yet.

 _But what if it is and you just don't know?_

The treacherous voice in his head got the lead balloon back in his stomach and started it swelling until he started to feel the same tension.

No one spoke. What was there to say that hadn't already been said? How could there be any light conversation when the outcome of what happened could have such devastating consequences?

Finally, after about half an hour of tense silence, the intern came back.

"Agent McGee, Dr. McGee, Captain Coleman, could you come with me, please?"

Sam turned his chair around.

"My wife, too?"

"They didn't say her."

"Did they say she _couldn't_ come?" Sam asked.

"Uh...no."

"Then, she's coming. This affects her as much as it does the rest of us."

Tim couldn't remember the last time he'd heard his father speak like that. It wasn't that it was rude. There was something...commanding in it. Even when he'd been lectured or stern, Tim hadn't felt like his father was issuing orders. If asked to explain just what was different, he couldn't have pointed to any one thing that explained it, but it was there.

"Yes, sir," the intern said, clearly feeling the same thing.

He turned and walked them back to the same conference room Tim had been in before. Only this time, Vance was there, along with the other two people Tim still didn't know.

"Welcome back, Agent McGee, Captain Coleman," Secretary Drake said. "You must be Dr. McGee, and this is your wife?"

"Yes, Mr. Secretary," Sam said. "Naomi McGee."

"Mr. Beechman, please make a space at the table for Dr. McGee and then, you're free to go."

"Yes, sir," the intern said.

He quickly shifted a chair away from the table, leaving ample space for Sam. Then, he left the room, again looking relieved, if Tim was any judge.

"Now, we have some important things to discuss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony felt really uncomfortable, sitting around waiting for something to happen. He wasn't really very patient about stuff like this. He could _be_ patient if necessary, but he didn't like it.

"How long will this take, do you think?" he asked the group, at large.

"Depends," Cresswell said. "If Secretary Drake has already made a decision, it may not take long at all. If he's still trying to find a way to avoid a political nightmare, it may take longer."

"Really, though, will having Sam go down for it be much less of a nightmare?" Tony asked. "I mean, I realize that he's a nobody to them, but he's still a U.S. citizen committing these crimes."

"Yes, but he's not one of the most powerful people in the country," Chegwidden said. "It's a lot harder to convince people to forget about the Secretary of Defense being an international criminal than it is a random citizen, even if he is in a wheelchair."

"What about Tim?"

"I don't know," Cresswell said. "From what I know, he committed a crime, but his reasons for it are understandable."

"He doesn't plan on fighting punishment, you know," Chegwidden said.

"Yeah, I know, but he _has_ to! He can't go to prison. He... McGee wouldn't make it in prison. He's not a prison sort of guy," Tony said.

"Most people aren't."

Tony couldn't help but laugh a little.

"I know. It's just... I know what he did was wrong, but what started all this is a lot _more_ wrong, and Tim would never have done it if they hadn't started it. They've been trying to kill him!"

"That doesn't necessarily matter, Agent DiNozzo," Charlie said, coming out from his hiding place.

"Where did you disappear to?"

"I decided that there was no reason for Sam and Naomi to have the additional anger seeing me would give them. They have enough stress in their life, right now." He shrugged. "I added to their stress thirty years ago. I don't have to do that, now."

"And you didn't want to see them, either."

"Sure. Would you?" Charlie asked.

"Point."

"Anyway, sometimes, it just doesn't matter, even when it should. Politics tends to set aside what's right, if it's convenient. We just have to hope that this time, it's not convenient."

Charlie turned away from them and walked to the window.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Dr. McGee, do you have anything to add?"

"You have my account from thirty years ago," Sam said, sternly. "I see no reason to change that, now. It was true the first time."

Secretary Drake nodded.

"Based on the information from Agent McGee, and Mr. Leadore's retraction..."

"What?" Sam asked, interrupting him. "Charlie?"

He looked at Tim, and the way Tim looked away told him everything.

"You found him. Why?"

"As Agent McGee pointed out to me, the only evidence supporting the charges against you was the account of your second-in-command. He has willingly retracted his initial report."

Sam felt Naomi's tight grip on his arm. She wasn't showing anything outwardly, but he knew she was as shocked by this as he was. He had assumed that, if Charlie came out of the woodwork, it would be to do the same thing he'd done thirty years ago. Another stab in the back.

"That being the case, I cannot, in good conscience, pursue charges against you. I will need to know things that are probably missing from your report as my investigation continues, but you will not be charged."

It was said so calmly and so abruptly that it didn't even register, at first.

"Just like that?" Naomi asked.

Secretary Drake actually smiled very slightly.

"Hasn't it been long enough? Would you rather I drag it out for even longer?"

"No, but after all this time, all these people trying to force us to given in, the threats...I have to admit that I expected that level of stress to continue."

"All the more reason to end it as soon as possible. Dr. McGee, you and your wife are free to go, although you may want to be cautious for a little longer while I continue my investigation."

Sam started to move, but then, he realized who had _not_ been included in that dismissal. He stopped.

"What about my son?"

"I committed a crime, Dad," Tim said, softly. "That doesn't go away just because you're innocent."

Sam looked from Tim, who wouldn't meet his gaze, to Secretary Drake.

"What about my son?" he asked again.

"As he said, he committed a crime. You didn't."

"Yes, I did. My crime was disobeying orders which were illegal and immoral. I was told, going into that mission, that I might have to make a choice between doing the right thing and obeying orders."

"By whom?"

"Admiral Jackson. He came to me in private and told me that, and he said that he would try to protect me as much as possible if I did choose to do the right thing. That's why they didn't go after me thirty years ago. I'm sure they hoped that it was just something that had gone away."

"Under the circumstances, your choice to disobey orders has little impact on my decisions. That is something your superiors would have to decide at the time. The case before me was who had destroyed a village in Nicaragua. You didn't do that," Secretary Drake said. "However, your son _did_ hack the DoD. He has confessed."

"He did it because of your attitude, right now."

"Excuse me?"

"Dad, don't," Tim said.

Sam looked at Tim for a split second but then returned his focus to Secretary Drake. He'd never been so furious in his entire life. Even when Charlie had betrayed him, it had been less about anger and more about pain. In this case, he was genuinely furious that Secretary Drake would sit there and hand down edicts so callously.

"While I'm assuming that you would not choose to intentionally convict an innocent man, you seem more than willing to make an example of my son."

"He committed a crime."

"Yes, he did. To save my life from someone with more power than conscience. I can see it in your eyes. You're thinking that you can punish Tim and it will somehow make up for the situation you might end up in. You don't want to take on the Secretary of Defense. You want to sit in your cozy little spot and not have to worry about it. I don't blame you, but you need to man up and face the fact that this is not a simple situation. This is not a situation where you can be content with staying safe. You have to engage. My son has almost always seen the world in terms of black and white. Gray is a difficult range because he doesn't like being there. The only thing that could push him to it would be absolute desperation. In doing so, he not only saved me, but he completed your investigation for you. He did the kinds of thing _you_ should have been doing. Because it mattered to him. It doesn't matter to you, not really. You're trying to keep this as quiet as possible. Well, let me tell you that, if you try to make my son pay the price that you don't want to put on Secretary Stidden, it will _not_ remain quiet."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. I don't make threats," Sam said, looking nowhere but at Secretary Drake. "I never make threats. I say what I mean and I don't back down. I knew that I might destroy my Navy career when I chose to disobey orders. I did not excuse myself when I made that choice. I knew it was the right choice, but I never tried to pretend that I wasn't disobeying. My only regret from that is that it didn't work. I didn't save anyone. That still haunts me to this day. I have lost a lot of people because of this mission, and I won't let you take one more away from me. I will not allow my son to be the final victim."

Secretary Drake showed himself to be a master. He didn't wince or show any discomfort. He just looked at Sam calmly.

"Then, what do you suggest?"

"I suggest that you're making more problems for yourself than you need to."

"In what way?"

"In that no one knows about my side of things. No one knows about the intimidation. No one knows that Secretary Stidden was the likely culprit in those threats. If you bring Tim to trial, what you're doing is shining a light on something that no one has to know about. If you have Tim on trial, you will have people finding out about the abuse of power that has been committed. The public doesn't care about nameless employees who do all the work. They care about the results. If you say that this information was found in the DoD archives, no one will ask which person found it. They'll simply ask what it means. I'm assuming that the people pushing won't care about that, either. If you're truly willing to accept my innocence, then, you have to offer up the guilty party. Why not reduce the problems down to one, even if it will be the hardest one to deal with?"

"And you think that's the best option?"

"Yes. Not just because my son's life is at stake, but because even though I hate the political game, I know it exists and I understand how it works. I've never been a politician. I was a Navy man, raised that way, but the people who make the decisions are usually politicans and my father taught me to know how politics work. You _have_ to deal with Secretary Stidden. You _don't_ have to deal with my son."

There was a long silence, and Sam hoped he had read Secretary Drake correctly. He didn't think that he was corrupt, simply practical, and if the case could be made that it was be more practical to look the other way, he would do it.

Finally, he leaned forward and actually smiled.

"Commander McGee, I haven't had such a thorough dressing down since I served. I appreciate your perspective, and I understand your need to say it. I can't give you a definitive answer right now. If you and your son are willing to wait, I'll take that under advisement. For now, you may go."

Sam could see that there was nothing more he could say, now. He rolled back from the table while Tim and Naomi stood up.

They walked out of the room and were met by the intern once more. He led them down the hall.

As they headed back to the waiting area, Sam looked up at Tim who was walking stiffly beside him.

"I meant what I said, Tim. You're not going to prison."

"I should. I broke the law, Dad."

"No, you shouldn't."

"There shouldn't be exceptions like that."

Sam laughed.

"Yes, there should, and there always are. You know it. Tim, you're not going to prove anything by insisting that they punish you for what you did."

Tim still didn't look at him. Sam wasn't quite sure what this was about, but he could see that Tim wasn't going to relax until this was actually over.

"You talked to Charlie?" Sam asked.

"Yes."

"How did you even know to look at him?"

"Because they tried hide him. If he was just another person, his records would be easy to find."

"That figures." Sam hesitated and looked at Naomi. Then, he looked back at Tim. "How was he?"

"Seemed fine."

"You can talk about him, Tim. It's been a long time. Did you like him?"

"I don't know. He's alone. He told me about his family when I asked him, and... I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. His parents didn't care about him. His mom didn't even recognize him when he went to his dad's funeral. He said that you were the only person who ever tried to protect him, Mom. He never thought you'd know about what he did, but he did think he'd be able to be the one to tell you."

"That doesn't make it any better," Naomi said, softly.

"Maybe marginally," Sam said. "Not much. But he decided to tell the truth."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Tim shrugged.

"That's not an answer, and there must be one since you don't want to say it."

"After someone tried to kill us, he decided that they hadn't given him any other choice."

Naomi stopped dead in her tracks and grabbed Tim by the arm.

"Someone tried to kill you?"

"They missed. It's fine, Mom."

"No, it's not. That is _not_ fine."

Tim finally turned to face her.

"Yes, it is. Because they didn't succeed. As long as the one calling the shots gets taken down, it won't matter."

Then, he kept walking. When they got back to the waiting area, Tim and Naomi sat down.

"Well?" Tony asked.

"He's not going to pursue charges against my dad," Tim said.

"That's great. So can we go?"

"He's still considering charges against Tim," Sam said. "I'm not leaving until I know the results, but you all have been sitting here a long time. You don't have to wait."

"Are you kidding? There's no way I'm leaving until I know what's going to happen," Tony said.

"I do have to get going," Cresswell said, standing up. "But I'm glad to hear that at least part of this is going right. Keep up the fight. Make it inconvenient for them to do the wrong thing and they'll do the right thing. Good luck."

"Thanks for your support," Sam said, holding out his hand. "Even though I didn't realize it was there, it's appreciated."

"Anytime. Captain Coleman, you can choose to see this through..."

"I'll be in tomorrow, sir."

"That's fine."

Cresswell left them. After about thirty minutes, Vance came out. They all looked up, almost at the same time.

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

"No decision yet. As much as I'd like to stay here, I have a job to do. I've done as much as I can, Agent McGee. It's just a matter of what Secretary Drake chooses to do."

"Yes, sir," Tim said softly.

Vance left, and they sat for another half an hour. Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity down the hall. A man came striding toward them, accompanied by about five others. He didn't look happy. As they neared the group in the waiting area, Sam suddenly recognized one of the men with him. It was the first one who had tried to intimidate him. He paused just for a moment and then gestured to the man in charge. He looked for a second and then looked back at Sam.

Sam sat up in his chair and met the man's gaze directly. This must be Secretary Stidden himself. While he wanted to give this man a lecture he'd never forget, Sam just sat there, proud to know that Stidden's attempt to rid himself of the blame had failed. The man with him smiled slightly and kept moving. Interesting how the people involved were clearly not devoted to the situation. They were just doing a job, it seemed.

"Secretary Stidden," Faith said, softly, when the group had vanished around a corner.

Tony muttered a few choice words but said nothing more. Tim's uncertain status kept them from talking about anything else.

Finally, two hours after the last meeting, the unfortunate intern was back again.

"Agent McGee only, this time. And Secretary Drake did specify that it was just him."

"Okay," Tim said, and stood up quickly. He glanced at Sam but didn't stop. He just walked away.

"What's going on, do you think?" Tony asked.

"He's made his decision," Chegwidden said, "but he's probably not going to publicize it, no matter what it is, and so he's going to talk to Agent McGee alone."

"What about Stidden?" Tony asked. "We didn't see him come back."

"I doubt he'll be there."

"How long do you think it will take?"

"I don't know. We'll just have to wait and see."


	54. Chapter 54

**Chapter 54**

This time, Tim wasn't conducted to the conference room. He was led to an office. The intern didn't go in with him and when he got inside, no one else was there.

He sat down and looked around, unsure of what was coming next.

Then, he heard a raised voice outside the room. He couldn't understand the words, but he could hear the irritation in the voice. He sat where he was, wondering if he should be doing something, and why he was alone in the office. It didn't look like a regular one. There was a window, giving some natural light, although less now, in the early evening. Tim suddenly realized that he had been in this building all day. It should have been boring, but it was still so full of stress that he couldn't find it boring.

The door behind him opened with a bang and Tim stood and turned around as quickly as he could.

And he came face to face with Secretary Stidden.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. It was the first time that Tim had been in the same room with the man who was to blame for all of this. It was almost funny that the man who had been the cause of all Tim's efforts had been almost completely absent from everything that had gone on.

He wasn't very tall, Tim realized suddenly. He was thin and had a drastically receding hairline. And he was probably five or six inches shorter than Tim himself was.

"Agent McGee," he said, finally.

Tim was amazed at how Stidden could make just a name sound like a threat. However, he had got what he wanted, and that meant he wasn't going to show this odious excuse for a human being anything at all. Or at least, nothing besides satisfaction.

"Nothing to say?"

"Nothing to say to you," Tim said, evenly.

Stidden raised an eyebrow.

"No apology for what you did?"

"Are you going to apologize for what _you_ did to my father?" Tim asked. "And even if you did would you actually mean it?"

Stidden stepped closer.

"If you think that you've got away with this," he said in a soft voice, the threat becoming more explicit.

"I don't think. I know," Tim said. "Your story fell apart as soon as you tried to kill Charlie. You do whatever you want to me. I don't care. You can't touch my dad, not now. You're going down for what you did thirty years ago and, if I can manage it, you'll go down even further for what you tried to do now. And even with all that, you _failed_. Everything you tried to do to cover it up failed."

"Secretary Stidden, I thought you'd left already."

The voice behind them made Stidden step back very quickly and turned around.

Secretary Drake was standing in the doorway. His tone had been pleasant enough, but his expression was much more stern.

"I also thought I made it clear that you were not going to interfere in my investigation, particularly now that you've been implicated."

"You were quite clear, Evan."

"Good. Then, you can do what you told me you were going to do. And just as a friendly notice, I've already informed the President. The exit is just down the hall, as I'm sure you remember."

Stidden looked back at Tim for a moment, and Tim could see the distaste in his eyes. He stared back, evenly. There was a great deal of satisfaction at seeing Stidden on the defensive.

" _Thank_ you, Roger. You can go."

Stidden took a breath and left the room. Secretary Drake stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.

"Sorry for that, Agent McGee. He was supposed to be leaving."

"Actually, I didn't mind."

There was a slight uplift of the corners of Secretary Drake's mouth at that.

"All right. Have a seat. I'm sure you're aware of the reason why I'm speaking to you alone."

"I'm guessing you've made your decision and you don't want anyone to know about it."

"In a way. It'll be obvious to those involved, but there's no reason to have a definite record if it's not necessary. I can't guarantee that there are no listening devices in this particular office, but I'm as sure as I can be that it's private."

"Understood."

"All right. I don't know who informed Roger of these meetings, but needless to say, he's now aware that everything is starting to implode. He was threatening to take everyone down with him, but he had a few people telling him that it would be a mistake and would likely just make things worse for him. That being said, the Department of Defense has no idea that you hacked them."

"Oh." Tim was surprised by that. He had assumed that he hadn't been careful enough and that was why they'd found him at the shack. "I don't know if I should say whether I'm glad about that or not."

"I suggest that it's probably best not to admit to being happy about getting away with a crime, especially not to a high-ranking federal employee."

Again, there was the merest hint of a smile.

"And it would also be a bad idea for a high-ranking employee in the federal government, particularly someone on the President's advisory committee to congratulate you for getting away with it."

Now, it was Tim's turn to suppress a smile at that. The knots in his stomach were slowly loosening as it became more and more possible that he wasn't going to have to pay the price for what he'd done. It was a price he'd been willing to pay, but he had dreaded paying it.

"Director Vance has expressed complete confidence in you, and he has borne witness to what has been happening to your parents. Secretary Jarvis has described his own role, minor as it has been." Then, Secretary Drake suddenly leaned forward. "And while I can't talk about any of the rest of it, I have to thank you."

"Thank me? What for?" Tim asked. He didn't think he'd done anything needing thanks. Lectures, maybe. Reprimands, definitely. But thanks?

"The Nicaraguan ambassador informed me that the bodies they recovered from the jungle were cremated and interred in Nicaragua, albeit without any identification. If this crime had been committed by your father, as the head of the team, they would be likely to make it very difficult, if not impossible, to get the remains back and have them interred here. Because we now have evidence that he refused his orders and that he tried to withdraw and that the destruction was caused by someone else, they will be less likely to blame it on the team itself. That means that they will be much more willing to return the remains. The families of that team will finally have the closure they've never had. After thirty years, it's not much, but it's more than they've had before. I was dreading having to attempt those negotiations, believing that the team's commanding officer was to blame."

"Oh." Tim really didn't know what to say about that. He had never considered the other people involved in the operation. Actually, now that he _was_ thinking about it, it was kind of a shock that he'd become so myopic. Anything not directly related to his father hadn't mattered.

"It's all right if you weren't thinking about them."

"I wasn't. Is it shameful that I didn't think about anyone except for my father?"

"Hyper-focused, maybe, but not shameful."

"So...what's going to happen to me?"

"Nothing."

"Really?"

"Because the Department of Defense never discovered any activity, there is officially no evidence of your actions."

"But...I confessed."

"Yes, you did. However, you're fortunate in that your father is right. It'll just be more to worry about to pursue charges against you in addition to his. Besides, we don't need another hacker being cheered by the public. Because Secretary Stidden doesn't know about all that, he can't raise a stink about it. As far as he's concerned, you tracked down Charles Leadore because of your father's past friendship with him. You were still employed by NCIS. The State Department is declining to pursue charges, but this had better not be the start of a trend, Agent McGee. Leniency once does not mean leniency later. What it means is harsher punishment later."

"I understand."

"Good. Now, while it does take these things time to leak out, I anticipate that you'll not have to worry about the threats continuing. You may want to be cautious tonight, but beyond that, you should be safe enough. I have your evidence and a record of Mr. Leadore's changed account. You're free to go. My intern is probably giving himself an ulcer worrying about what he might have to do next. This has been, by far, his most exciting day, and he probably won't be able to top it during the rest of his internship. He's probably glad of that, but he should be right outside the door."

"Thank you, sir."

Secretary Drake simply nodded. Tim stood and started to leave, but then, he turned back.

"What about Charlie, sir?"

"What about him? He was threatened. In the eyes of the law, he has justification and he's now making it right. Or are you asking beyond that?"

"Do you think he was being sincere?"

"I don't know him from Adam."

"I didn't know him before a couple of days ago. I barely remember him from when I was a kid."

"Agent McGee, I can't tell you what should happen. That's a moral decision, not a legal one. It also has nothing to do with the State Department. The only people who can make a decision like that are those who were directly affected by his actions. My job depends on reading people, and from my position of limited knowledge, I would say that he was sincere. Certainly, his feelings about the mission itself were genuine and his desire to protect Dr. McGee from that. Very few people can pale on demand. Beyond that, I can't say. What I can say is that you should probably try to take a vacation, if Director Vance will let you after your time UA."

Tim nodded and turned around. He left the office and the hapless intern was still there. He led Tim back down the hall. As they neared the waiting area, Tim turned to him. He looked to be just old enough for college.

"Thanks for all your help, today," Tim said.

The intern's face reddened.

"You're welcome," he said.

Then, they were back (the intern left very quickly) and everyone was staring at him expectantly. He noticed that Charlie wasn't there, again. Gibbs didn't look worried, though, so Tim didn't worry, either.

"Well?" Tony asked. "What happened?"

Tim felt himself start to smile with relief more than anything else.

"No charges."

"Just like that?" Tony asked.

"Just like that," Tim said, although he thought of the thanks he'd received and wondered if he should tell Sam. But that wasn't something he was at liberty to share, _and_ Secretary Drake hadn't actually done that negotiation yet. He should probably keep that to himself.

"What about Stidden? We saw him storm out of here," Chegwidden asked.

"Something will happen. I don't know what, though," Tim said. "Secretary Drake wouldn't tell me that part."

"That makes sense," Faith said. "He's probably not quite sure himself how everything will fall out, and really, it's not our business since we're no longer involved. We'll find out, eventually."

"So now what?" Tony asked.

"I guess we leave," Tim said. "Secretary Drake said we'd probably want to be cautious tonight, but after that, we shouldn't have any problems because all the evidence is here. It doesn't depend on any one person."

"That just seems too easy after all this mess," Tony said.

"I'm okay with easy. Nothing else has been."

"Well, if that's the case, I can give you a ride back to my place, Captain Coleman, and you can pick up your car."

Chegwidden looked at Tim and raised an eyebrow just slightly. Tim nodded in reply. Charlie would also go and get his car. For now, Tim didn't want to tell his parents that Charlie had not only recanted, he'd actually been in the building at the same time. Faith agreed and she and Chegwidden walked away.

"We'll take you back to your apartment," Gibbs said, looking at Sam.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

"We've been staying here in D.C. while all this was going on," Naomi said. "It was easier than trying to deal with it all from Ohio."

"Oh."

"Why don't you stay with us, tonight, Tim?" Naomi said. "If we're going to be cautious, you shouldn't be staying in your apartment alone."

"Okay."

Tim found that he couldn't really fathom not having anything to do. The last few weeks had been so focused on _doing_ something that it was strange to have nothing.

And if he was honest, he couldn't believe that it was really over. He had never thought that it would turn out right. To find that it had was bizarre.

As they left the building, Gibbs decided to go and get the car and bring it back, rather than have them all walk down to the parking lot. They waited together at the entrance in a strange silence. Even Tony seemed reluctant to speak. It should have been an amazing, exciting moment, but for some reason, it wasn't. Tim couldn't decide why that was.

When Gibbs got back with the car, Tim suddenly realized a problem.

"Are we all going to fit in here?" he asked.

"We'll let your dad sit in front," Tony said. "Wheelchair in the trunk, and I'll get cozy with your mom."

Tim looked at Tony with a deeply-furrowed brow.

"That sounds _really_ wrong, Tony."

Tony grinned. "I agree. It sounded better in my head."

"I think I'll let my mom sit by the window."

Naomi laughed. "Actually, Agent DiNozzo, you might be risking life and limb if you tried anything."

Tony raised his hands in the air in defense.

"I would never put the moves on a married woman. Promise. Now, if you were single..."

"Not happening," Naomi said.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," Sam said.

Naomi leaned over and kissed him.

"Always."

Sam rolled around and got into the car. Tim folded his wheelchair and put it in the trunk. Then, they all piled into the car, sitting a little too close together, but it was what they had. Gibbs drove them to the apartment and let them out. Tim climbed out of the car and Tony took an exaggerated breath.

"Finally! I can breathe!"

"Ha ha. Maybe you need to lose some weight," Tim said.

"Not me."

There was something keeping them from talking about what had just happened. Tim didn't know what it was.

"You all right, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, Boss."

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything more. Tony took Sam's place in the front and they pulled away.

Tim followed his parents inside.

"You'll have to sleep on the couch, Tim," Naomi said. "But I think it'll pull out into a bed. It'll be all right for a night."

Tim smiled and nodded. He didn't bother to mention the fact that he'd been sleeping on a lot worse surfaces than a lumpy mattress.

"It's early yet to be going to bed, but I haven't eaten all day and I'm starving," Sam said. "How about dinner?"

"Sounds good," Tim said, nodding.

They were all trying to make things normal, but Tim didn't know why no one was talking about what had just happened.

It was like nothing had happened at all.

Or else something was still unfinished.


	55. Chapter 55

**Chapter 55**

Chegwidden pulled into his driveway and stopped the car. He looked at Charlie.

"What are you going to do, now?" he asked.

Charlie shrugged. "Go home. What else?"

"Where is your home?" Faith asked.

"New Jersey. Little place called Dennis. Been living there for nearly thirty years, and I'm ready to go back as long as no one will be trying to kill me this time."

"Shouldn't be, but that's a long drive. Why don't you stay the night and get an early start in the morning?"

Charlie just smiled and shook his head.

"No, thanks. I'm ready to go home. It's only a few hours' drive. I've done my part."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Besides, even if someone _was_ trying to kill me, it wouldn't change what I did today. Thanks for the offer, but I just want to go home. It's not much, but it's mine and I haven't left it for a long time."

Chegwidden put out his hand and Charlie shook it. Then, he got in his car and drove away. Faith watched him go.

"This is not how I expected all this to end. I really thought it would go all the way to a trial."

"I hoped that it wouldn't," Chegwidden said. "An actual trial would mean that it was much more likely the world would know about it. It's harder to get the right outcome when you have to deal with the public, too. They usually make things worse. As it is, they'll know about Stidden, not about Sam."

"True."

"Well, Captain, what are _you_ going to do now?"

Faith actually smiled. "I'm going to go home, eat something, finish out the week and then take some time off. If someone else shows up because they didn't get the memo that it's over, I'm going to kill them or sic my friend's dog on them. Anubis would make them question the wisdom of attacking me."

"Anubis?" Chegwidden asked.

"A big, black dog. He's kind of adopted me as an occasional family member, so when they go out of town, he stays with me. He's a very good guard dog. Actually, even with a dog walker, he'll be getting a little antsy. I'd better get home. Thank you for everything, sir."

"I was only moral support, Captain."

"That's what I needed."

"You can have it anytime, Captain Coleman."

"Thank you."

Then, Faith walked to her own car and drove away, leaving Chegwidden alone to consider how it had all fallen out. There had been something about Tim that had kept everyone from being as happy and celebratory as they might have been, otherwise. It might have just been as simple as needing time to absorb everything, but regardless, he had cast a bit of a pall over the group.

Well, Chegwidden knew his part was definitely over, now.

...but that didn't stop him from hoping he got to know about when things got back on an even keel.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was lying on the pullout couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself that it was all right to go to sleep.

He'd been awake for an hour so far, and he was listening to the silence.

Then, there was a creak and he sat up quickly, his heart pounding as he looked around.

"I thought you would still be awake."

Tim took a deep breath and let it out quickly, trying to calm himself down again. There was no reason to worry. It was over.

"Why are _you_ , Dad?" he asked.

"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 'Sleep. Oh, how I loathe those little slices of death.'"

Sam wheeled over to where Tim was sitting.

"You ready to talk about it?"

"No."

"How about we talk about it, anyway."

"There's nothing to talk about. I know you don't think I should have done what I did. I feel differently. You're not going to convince me that I was wrong. I'm not going to convince you that I was right. What else is there to say?"

Sam reached out and put his hand on Tim's knee.

"Why did you feel you had to?"

"Because I'm selfish and I couldn't stand how I would have felt if I had to watch you go to prison or worse. What I wrote in the letter I left for you wasn't really true."

"What do you mean?"

"Not for self but for father. I was really doing it for myself."

" _And_ for me," Sam corrected.

"Yes, but it was really me. I couldn't deal with it. All I could think of was if there was some way for me to take your place. And if I had to go to prison instead of you, I would do it."

"I'm sorry, Tim."

"For what?"

"For what I put you through thirty years ago. I still remember your face when you thought I wanted you to leave, when you were afraid of me. I've never forgiven myself for forgetting you in the midst of everything else that was going on."

"I have," Tim said. "I forgave you as soon as you said you were sorry."

"Even if you did, you didn't forget it."

"No, but it's okay. You said you were sorry and I knew you meant it."

"I did, and I'm even more sorry that you can't let go of that need to protect me or that fear of losing me. You shouldn't feel that way. I'm your father. I should be protecting you, but I couldn't shield you from everything that happened."

Tim sighed and stood up. He turned away from Sam.

"It's not because of what happened when I was eight. What they were trying to do to you was wrong, and I did what I had to, so that it would go right."

"Yes, it was wrong, but most people would have focused on making sure the _trial_ went right. Sarah didn't even insist that she come home when we told her that we'd keep her up to date on everything. She's going to come back soon, but she didn't feel that same fear you did. Because she never had the same experiences you did. She never saw me as low as you did, and if I could, I would have you forget those days."

"I wouldn't. Yes, it was hard to see, but..." Tim turned back. "Dad, I..." He didn't know how to put it into words. He walked over and sat down so that he was eye to eye with him. "I can't think of a quote. I don't know the words. I remember one day. I don't remember how old I was or exactly what the situation was, but I was outside, watching the clouds. My teacher had told me about them and they were the most fascinating thing in the world. You came out and lay down by me and let me tell you all about them. You never made me feel like what I was telling you didn't matter. You mean so much to me, Dad, and it's because of everything, not just the good days. Not just the bad days. It's all of it. I know it's making this all about me, but if they had convicted you...I don't know if I could have dealt with it. So I was willing to do anything it would take to make sure I didn't have to find out if I could."

Sam put on the brakes and then pulled Tim into a tight hug.

"I love you so much, Dad."

"And I love you, Tim. Shakespeare. 'When a father gives to his son, both laugh. When a son gives to his father...'" He took a shaky breath. "'...both cry.'"

For a long time, Tim just hugged his father, feeling secure in the knowledge that this wouldn't be the last time he saw him, the last time he was free. Whatever else might be wrong, _that_ much was right.

Finally, Tim sat up again, wiping at his eyes a little. He was still not wanting to cry, no matter _how_ glad he was that this had worked out.

"How did you even think of focusing on Charlie?" Sam asked, after a few minutes. "I never told you about him, and that was on purpose. There was only that one picture in the photo album."

"Actually, there were a few, but he wasn't in the foreground. He was in the background of most of them. It was because of when he showed up in the photo album and when he stopped showing up. It seemed too much of a coincidence. Then, when I tried to look at his military record and I couldn't find it, I couldn't think of any other reason why it would be hidden, unless he was part of the operation."

"Did you talk to him?"

Tim nodded, still unsure if he should tell Sam that Charlie had been there.

"And?"

"And I know I must have seen him when I was a kid, but I don't really remember him at all."

"You were young, and there were a lot of other things to think about at the time," Sam said. "What did you think of him?"

"I feel sorry for him. Not because of what he did to you. I don't know if I can let that go, but...it's like I told you. He's all alone, Dad. He never married. He told me that his own mother doesn't care about him and hasn't for most of his life. When his dad died, he went to the funeral and no one had even realized that his parents had more than one son."

"He never was willing to take a risk," Sam said. "I told him that he should. I always thought he'd settle down, eventually."

"Well, I guess he did, but not _with_ anyone."

"How much time did you spend talking to him?"

"Uh..."

"What?"

"I found him at his house in New Jersey and then...as long as it took to drive down here."

"What? He's _here_? In DC?"

"Probably not anymore. I'll bet he went back as soon as he could. He was at the State Department, today."

"He was? I never saw him."

"He hid whenever you and Mom were around."

"Oh."

Sam seemed nonplussed and then a little frustrated.

"He hasn't changed. Can't face me, even after thirty years." Then, he looked back at Tim. "But he admitted that he lied."

Tim nodded.

"Why did he?"

"He said that they threatened him, and he didn't have anyone to back him up."

"He always said that, you know," Sam said, with a sigh. "I told him that I had his back, but he said it wasn't the same. He would never tell me the same as what."

"As family," Tim said, softly.

"What do you mean?"

"Did you know that he had a brother?"

"No. He said that he didn't really have any family and he didn't like to talk about it. So I let him avoid it. No sense in rubbing salt in a wound when it wasn't necessary."

"He said that his parents loved his brother, that he was the perfect guy, the one everyone liked. Charlie said that he was just the playmate for the perfect child, but Darryl got cancer and died, and his parents just didn't care about anyone or anything else. He never even went home to see them. Not ever, that he said."

"Not the same as having a family. But he could have had that. Your mother and I always tried to give him support, especially when it was clear that he didn't really have much of it. He just wouldn't accept that."

"He said that Mom stepped in when no one else would have, but he was a little embarrassed by it and wouldn't tell me what that meant. Do you know?"

Sam thought about it and then actually smiled a little, although there was more than a hint of sadness in the expression.

"Yes. Charlie's pretty well off, or he was..."

"He still is."

Sam nodded. "He never needed money, and one thing I'll say for him, he wasn't stingy. He wasn't really a spendthrift, either, but he liked being able to give people things. Based on what you said, I can see why that would be the case. There was a woman who latched onto him. It was clear to everyone that she was really only interested in his money, not him. It was clear to everyone...except Charlie himself. In the end, she tried to rob him, but Naomi saw through her and stood up for him. She tracked the woman down, forced her to give back what she'd taken and got her arrested. Charlie tried to say that it didn't matter, that she could have the money, but you know your mother. She wouldn't accept that. What had happened was wrong and it needed to be made right. I think that's the last time Charlie ever dated anyone seriously. He just wouldn't take the risk." Sam sighed and shook his head. "But I sure liked him. He was always trying a little too hard to be the right person, but I liked him, all the same."

"That's why it hurt," Tim said, softly.

Sam nodded again. "I wonder if it would have hurt as much if I wasn't still trying to deal with the mission itself." Then, he looked at Tim and smiled a little. "Probably would have, but I wouldn't have hurt you as much."

"Dad, you didn't hurt me. That was one moment and all that happened was that I just didn't understand what was going on. I knew you were sad and then, you were angry, but I didn't think about anyone outside the house being the reason. I knew you weren't mad at Mom, and I was the only one left. I thought if I stayed out of the way, you wouldn't be mad at me, anymore."

"Tim..."

"No," Tim said, smiling a little himself. "Don't apologize for something that happened that long ago. You _weren't_ mad at me. You _didn't_ want me gone. And when you realized what I thought, you said sorry and that's all that matters, now. That's all that mattered, then."

Suddenly, Sam's eyes filled with tears. Tim didn't know why.

"Dad..."

"You've saved my life three times now, Tim."

"What are you talking about?"

"You saved me today. You saved me from making the worst choice I could have made after the accident. And thirty years ago, you saved me from my anger when I let all my hurt blind me to everything that had meaning. All it took was you being there."

"No," Tim said. "No, you wouldn't have stayed like that, Dad. I didn't do anything except make you feel bad."

"I would hope that I wouldn't have, but what I _know_ is that all you had to do was ask me not to send you away and I couldn't keep doing what I was doing to myself and to my family. Kent Nerburn. 'Until you have a son of your own . . . you will never know the joy, the love beyond feeling that resonates in the heart of a father as he looks upon his son. You will never know the sense of honor that makes a man want to be more than he is and to pass something good and hopeful into the hands of his son. And you will never know the heartbreak of the fathers who are haunted by the personal demons that keep them from being the men they want their sons to be.'"

Tim hugged his father once more.

"You _are_ the kind of man I always wanted to be, Dad. Always."

Sam hugged him back.

"I never wanted you to give up anything for me," he said, softly.

"I _would_ have given up anything," Tim said in reply. "Anything."


	56. Chapter 56

**Chapter 56**

Sam and Naomi spent another full day in DC, making sure that everything was truly over. Tim stayed with them and was there when they called to tell Sarah the good news. She was making plans to come home and see them and she said that Tim _had_ to be there, too. He said he would try.

But then, strangely enough, it was time to go back to normal life. It was hard to accept that it was possible, but it was.

The problem was that there were a few loose ends to tie up.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How long do you think Tim will be up with Vance?" Tony asked, looking up toward the office.

Gibbs followed his gaze and shook his head.

"Don't know."

"Vance wants him back. He'll be back," Tony said, trying to convince himself.

Gibbs just nodded. It was true that Vance hadn't wanted Tim gone and had even made sure that Tim's resignation wasn't processed, but there was no question that Tim had made his job difficult. It was also very likely that Vance had a number of questions. Plus, even if the State Department was declining to pursue charges, Jarvis might push for something to be done, given the nature of Tim's actions. The worst of it was that Gibbs knew Tim wouldn't fight whatever it was. He would feel it was his just deserts.

Sometimes, Tim's sense of right and wrong could be extremely irritating.

Then, Gibbs' phone rang. Tony looked at him and then at the phone, as if he expected it to explode or something. Gibbs just answered,

"Gibbs."

" _Good morning, Agent Gibbs. This is Sam McGee. Do you have a moment?"_

"Yes. What is it?"

" _My wife and I are heading back to Ohio this morning. Tim had to get back to his job, and I have to get back to mine. Sarah will be coming back soon enough, and with the upcoming charges being likely, we'd prefer to be out of the way when all that happens. Captain Coleman told us that we should be ready for possible contact over the next couple of months, but probably not beyond that. Thomas Kempis said, 'When a man is out of sight, it is not too long before he is out of mind.' I can only hope that it's the case with me."_

"I agree."

" _Anyway, Naomi is gesturing for me to get on with it. I have two questions for you. First, is it possible for Tim to get some time off? I understand that he might need to be there for some of the wrap up and everything, but maybe this coming weekend or some other time? We've started talking about it all, but I know that it hasn't been a vacation for him, either, and I think it would be better if we could spend some time together as a family. I'm sure that Tim hasn't asked for it."_

"Hasn't asked me," Gibbs said.

" _Yeah. He won't, either, unless we force him. He wants to make up for the punishment he won't be getting. Do you think it's possible?"_

"Probably. Have to ask, but I think it'll be all right."

" _Good. Thank you. Now, the second question might just take you by surprise."_

Gibbs smiled a little. A lot about this mess had taken him by surprise.

"What is it."

" _Could you give me directions on how to get to Charlie's house?"_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Do you have anything more to add, Agent McGee?" Vance asked.

"No, sir. I know the State Department isn't going to charge me with anything, but I did go UA at the very least," Tim said. "If you want me to have any punishment, I won't fight it."

Vance raised an eyebrow at him. Tim figured that he probably didn't understand why he was saying it.

"You're lucky Secretary Jarvis isn't here to hear that. He just might take you up on that offer."

Tim leaned forward, earnestly.

"Director Vance, I never expected to be back here. I figured that, whether I succeeded or failed with my father, I'd be in prison. Don't get me wrong. I appreciate it, and I know that you probably had to deal with a lot because of me. I just..." Tim sighed. "I broke the law, sir. It wasn't a mistake on my part. I knowingly committed a crime."

"And you feel you should be punished even though everyone is telling you that it won't happen?" Vance asked.

"The reason I did what I did was because someone else broke the law and I wanted him to be punished for it, instead of my dad who did nothing wrong. I shouldn't place myself above what I expect of others."

Tim was surprised at Vance's expression. It was a tolerant smile, as if Tim was saying something ridiculous instead of just.

"Agent McGee, while that is all very noble, I know it's not what you want. I also know that you very likely don't really think your actions compare to those of Secretary Stidden. You might think you _should_ be punished for it, or maybe it's just that you convinced yourself that there was no other way for this to turn out. I can't read your mind, but what I think you need is _not_ some kind of punishment. You need a vacation."

"I've already been gone for more than two weeks, Director. It seems wrong to be rewarded for this."

Vance stood up and walked around his desk. Then, he sat down by Tim.

"Agent McGee, what happened here was the best possible outcome. Why are you refusing to accept it?"

"I accept it. I'm really glad that Dad got out of it."

"Accept that you got out of it, too."

Tim took a deep breath, unsure why Vance was pushing this.

"Take a vacation, Agent McGee. Spend some time with your family, since that's what you went through all this for. I'd like you to stay until the weekend, but then, I don't want to see you back here until the next week. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. ...no, I don't understand."

"That's why you need a vacation. Accept that you're not getting any punishment for this...unless you try to get away with it, again."

Tim smiled a little. That was almost exactly what Secretary Drake had said.

"If someone came after my family again, I couldn't guarantee it."

"If someone came after your family again, I wouldn't push it."

Vance stood up and went back behind his desk.

"Finish out the week, Agent McGee. That's an order if I have to make it that, and then, take a week off to be with your family and enjoy your success. That's all."

Tim nodded and stood up. He walked out of Vance's office and stopped at the stairs. He looked down and saw Tony at his desk, Gibbs just getting off the phone. He took another breath and headed down the stairs.

"Hey, McGee! You survived Vance's office!"

Tim got down to the bottom before he responded. He didn't really want to have people focusing on him.

"Guess I did." He looked at Gibbs. "Boss, Vance wants me to take time off next week. If that's okay. If it's not, I'll..."

"It's fine, McGee," Gibbs said.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't question a vacation, Tim," Tony said. "Just enjoy it."

Tim walked to his desk and sat down. He just couldn't help feeling that everyone was reacting wrong to this. He had made things difficult. He had committed a crime. He had ignored everything and everyone except his dad. And they were acting like he'd done something amazing. He tried to focus on something work-related, but he couldn't.

Finally, after about an hour, he couldn't handle it. He got up and walked over to Gibbs.

"Can I talk to you, Boss?" he asked.

Gibbs looked at him with raised eyebrow, but then, he nodded and gestured for Tim to precede him to the elevator. They got on and Gibbs stopped it almost instantly.

"What is it?"

"This just isn't right, Boss."

"What isn't?"

"All this! I did the wrong thing, Boss. I ignored everyone except my dad. No one else mattered. I was willing to do anything for him, but... I didn't think about the other people involved. I tried to force you to give up on me, and you wouldn't. The whole world could have fallen apart, but I just wanted my dad to be safe. And now... Now, everyone is acting like I was right."

"You were."

"No! I was right that my dad was innocent, but everything else..."

"Tim, take a breath."

"What?"

"Breathe," Gibbs said.

"What?" Tim asked again.

"Breathe. Breathe in, and then, breathe out."

"For how long?"

"Until I'm ready."

Tim furrowed his brow but did as Gibbs said. He just breathed in and out for about a minute. He felt embarrassed by it, but when Gibbs gave an order...

"Now, listen to me."

"But..."

"Listen! If you're thinking that you made the wrong choice about how to get your dad out, maybe you're right. Maybe we could have done this without the choices you made, but we'll never know that, and what you did choose ended up working. Your dad is free, and so are you. Don't focus on the fact maybe you made a bad choice. Focus on the fact that it worked. Against all the odds. It worked. No one got hurt. The only person who is going to suffer is Stidden, but you'll probably never find out what happened, unless they force it. So stop questioning. Don't second guess yourself."

"Or you'll take my badge?" Tim asked, softly.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"That was about hesitating to do what you needed to do. You didn't hesitate this time."

Tim bit back the obvious response, and he could see that Gibbs knew what he _wasn't_ saying.

"Let this be a good thing, Tim," Gibbs said. "It is. Let it be."

Tim took another deep breath (without being ordered to).

"I'll try."

"That's why you need a vacation. It's not a reward. It's a necessity."

Tim took another deep breath and nodded.

"And you're going to have to let everyone welcome you back. They've been worried."

Another nod.

"Good." Gibbs flipped on the elevator.

The doors opened and Tony was staring with a questioning expression.

"Back to work, McGee," Gibbs said.

Tim nodded one last time and walked back to his desk. He still couldn't rid himself of the worry, but at least he'd said it.

Back to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Sam, I don't know if this is a good idea," Naomi said.

Sam just smiled. "I know you don't. That's why _I'm_ doing it and not you. I don't trust you to let him talk and not kill him."

"He didn't want to see you. If he had...he would have," Naomi said.

"I know that, too. I also know Charlie."

"As he was thirty years ago," Naomi said, not taking her eyes off the road. "It's been a long time. People change."

"Doesn't sound to me like he's changed much. And if I'm right, Charlie just doesn't dare see me. It's not about whether he _wants_ to. It's that he doesn't dare to. He doesn't want to confront what he did to me, but it's been thirty years, and I _need_ to hear from him why. It's not going to change me...but it might change him. 'Change will never happen when people lack the ability and courage to see themselves for who they are.' Bryant H. McGill."

"You're a better person than I am."

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "Just like Tim, there's a degree of selfishness in this. I want to understand for myself, but whether I do or not, I want to let Charlie explain himself."

"Whether he wants you to or not," Naomi said with a smile.

"He was one of my best friends. I relied him so many times, but when it mattered most, he let me down. But he was my friend for a lot of years, and because that, I have to give him a chance to talk."

"What if he doesn't want to?"

"Then, that will be it. I can't force him, but I think he wants to."

"I can't forgive him, not after seeing you the way you were. That was too hard. It almost destroyed you."

Sam rubbed her shoulder.

"I understand. I don't know if I can or not, but I'm going to find out." Sam looked out the window. "This should be it on the right."

Naomi nodded and slowed down. She turned off the road and they got their first look at the place Charlie had been living for the last thirty years. It was small and unassuming.

"He certainly wasn't living it up," Sam said.

"Are those bullet holes in the windows?" Naomi asked in surprise.

"It looks like it," Sam said, now worried that there was something else going on.

"Tim said that someone shot at them but..."

Quickly, Sam got out of the car and into his wheelchair.

"Hello?" he called out. "Anybody here?"

A faint voice answered him.

"I'm in the back. Just give me a second, I'll be right out!"

Then, walking around the house came Charlie. He was older by thirty years, but Sam could see the same man he'd known. He could see it in how Charlie moved, in how he looked.

...and he could see the instant hesitation when he realized who was there.

"Sam."


	57. Chapter 57

**Chapter 57**

Sam could see that Charlie was considering making a run for it. Charlie who had never backed down in a physical fight. Not once. He was terrified of speaking to a man in a wheelchair.

Sam rolled forward.

"Hi, Charlie. It's been a long time. About thirty years."

Charlie looked from Sam over to the car where Naomi was sitting, not looking at them. Sam followed his gaze.

"She's staying in the car," Sam said and smiled a little. "Lucky for you."

Charlie stood where he was, but he'd relaxed just enough that he wasn't on the verge of running away.

"What are you doing here, Sam?"

"I heard that I missed you in DC. I wanted to talk to you."

"Why? It's been thirty years."

"That's why. It's been thirty years."

Charlie kept looking at the wheelchair. Sam could see it. He was horrified by it. It was a good thing that Sam himself was generally used to it. He supposed it made sense that Charlie would be shocked, given that it had been thirty years and, as far as he was concerned, Sam had gone from able-bodied to paralyzed in a moment.

"It's a wheelchair, Charlie. There are a lot of them around. You don't catch paralysis by being near me."

"I'm sorry for that, Sam," he said. "Tim told me that you were paralyzed. It's just...I guess it wasn't real until now."

"So you can apologize for something completely unrelated to you, but not the one thing you had a hand in?"

And there it was. Sam saw the slight slump of the shoulders and Charlie walked over to the steps and sank down on them. Sam rolled over so that he was closer.

"I'd invite you inside, but I don't have a ramp," Charlie said.

"That's all right. It's a nice enough day. I can tell you don't really want me here, anyway. What happened to your windows?"

Charlie looked up at them and then down at his hands.

"Some people tracked me down when Tim did."

Sam felt a heavy lump in his stomach at the reminder of what Tim had been willing to go through for him.

"It only happened a couple of days ago. I haven't had time to get it fixed. I do most repairs myself. I'll just buy some new panes."

"Tim said that there were some people shooting at you," Sam said, trying to sound calm.

"And at Tim. We don't know which of us was the main target. That's why I was with him." Charlie sighed. "Sam, there's no reason for you to be here. Even when I knew how badly you'd been hurt by what I did, I still wasn't sure if I could do the right thing...until they tried to kill me. That's the kind of man I am. The kind of friend I am. A pretty crappy one. So now you know that if you didn't already. There's no reason for you to come here. Just go home and enjoy your life. You know you can. You know that you're free and clear as you always should have been. There's nothing to be gained by coming here, now, unless you came to gloat, and I guess you have the right to do that."

Charlie stood up and turned to go up the stairs.

"Tim told me that you don't have any family, Charlie. Why didn't you ever tell me any of that?"

Charlie paused, his hand on the railing.

"What teenager wants to admit that his own parents don't care about him? Who wants to talk about a miserable life at home to the tough guys he's serving with? I'm supposed to have the perfect, easy life. I didn't want to change that perception. All I wanted was to forget about what I didn't have. I wanted to be something other than the son who wasn't good enough. If I didn't tell anyone about it, then, I could be. It wasn't like my parents would show up to give lie to it." He laughed without any humor. "I could be the life of the party."

"You didn't stay that way."

Charlie's hand slipped off the railing and he turned around again.

"You weren't the only one out there, Sam. I was there, too, and I _didn't_ go blind."

Sam grabbed Charlie's arm to keep him from leaving again.

"I wasn't accusing you of something, Charlie. I was pointing it out."

"I saw what happened to you...and what happened to everyone else. It's hard to be the life of the party when all you can think about is your whole team dying like that."

"I know. I never forgot it, either, even though I wanted to."

"And I made your life worse by trying to make mine better. Sam, there's nothing more to say. What you see is what you get with me. There's nothing else."

Charlie started to walk up the stairs.

"No, Charlie. That's the problem. That's _always_ been the problem. What you choose to show is not you. It's what you _think_ people want to see, what you _think_ they want to hear. You've spent your whole life trying to be what everyone wants. I wonder if _you_ even know who you are."

"I'm nobody, Sam." He turned around and Sam saw the devastation in his expression. "I tried to leave it all behind, but how could I? I knew what I'd done was wrong, but I never had the guts to do anything to change that. How could I try to be anything else when I knew that I'd thrown you under the bus? It's a simple life out here. There's not much to it, and that's fine. Just go home and leave me to it."

He turned back and walked up the stairs. Sam debated about what he could say to get Charlie to stay, because he really wanted to have the conversation that Charlie kept avoiding.

"Charlie, I've missed you."

Charlie had the front door open, but he froze when Sam said that. He didn't turn around. He didn't speak. But he stopped. Sam pressed the advantage.

"I'm not excusing what you did or the effect it had on me. When Admiral Jackson told me about it, I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. It took a long time to get through that. I can't say I ever really got _over_ it, but I did move on. But the thing is...I always regretted losing you as a friend. I regretted that I didn't know where you were, that I couldn't ever hear you tell me what happened and why...and maybe tell me that you regretted it. I can't run after you to stop you from hiding from me, now. All you have to do is walk into the house and I can't follow. I didn't come here to attack you. I came to understand. We were such good friends, Charlie. What happened?"

Charlie stood where he was. He didn't move for a long time, but he didn't speak, either. Sam just waited. He had asked what he wanted know. Now, he had to see if Charlie would finally show the kind of courage he had always lacked.

Suddenly, Charlie turned around and almost collapsed onto the top step, tears streaming down his cheeks. He covered his face, seemingly unable to speak. Sam had _never_ seen Charlie cry. Actually, now that he thought of it, he had never seen Charlie express any kind of emotion that wasn't positive. He was never angry, never sad, never upset. He had never shown any of that before. He couldn't get any closer to Charlie than he was, and Charlie was out of reach. The stairs were just high enough that he could touch Charlie's legs, but he was looking up and he wanted to be able to talk _to_ him, not up _at_ him.

Then, he heard the car door close. He looked back and saw Naomi walking over. He wasn't at all sure about what she'd do or say, but he knew that, like Tim, she wouldn't be stopped once she'd decided to do something. She looked at Sam and then took a breath and walked up the steps where Charlie was sitting. She sat down beside him and put her arms around him. She didn't say a word. She just hugged him as he cried. She made eye contact with Sam as she comforted Charlie. He could see her own ambivalence, but he understood. She didn't like seeing people miserable, and she had liked Charlie, too. Her anger at him was _because_ of how much she'd liked him.

After a couple of minutes, Charlie calmed himself down. He sat up and realized who was beside him. Sam saw him force a smile onto his face.

"I thought that...if I ever saw you again, you'd be killing me, not hugging me, Naomi," he said, shakily.

"I still have time," she said, but she smiled a little, too.

Naomi let him go and urged him to move down to the bottom step so that Sam was closer to him. She stayed where she was.

"Charlie, please. Talk to me," Sam said. "Have the conversation you've been trying to avoid. Tell me why."

"It's nothing deep, Sam," Charlie said, his voice thick. "I was afraid. That's the only reason there is, and it's a pretty ridiculous one, but it's all I've got. I'd just watched everyone die. I didn't know if you were going to die, or if you'd live but be blind. I'd lost everything except my freedom and these people came and told me that I had to choose between myself and you. They said that if I blamed you, that nothing would even happen because you'd have to leave the Navy anyway, and I was afraid of losing what little I had left. I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just a coward. That's all it is. I was afraid and I had no one to back me up, not that time. I know you would have if you could, but you couldn't. You were barely even conscious! It was just me. So I took the out they gave me. I accepted it. I signed _your_ life away to save my own. ...and then, I lived the rest of my life the way you said I'd end up. Alone. Alone with no one to really care whether I was alive or dead."

Charlie looked down at his hands and swallowed hard.

"And then you show up here, after thirty years, and you show me more than anything else could have what I really did back then. And it only took three words." He actually managed to smile around his tears. "You always were the one with the words. And it's just me being selfish again because what I see is that I gave up what I'd always been wanting, and I did it out of fear. They didn't even have to do anything to me. They just had to threaten and I caved. I'm sorry. There's nothing to do to make that kind of thing up." He took another deep breath and calmed down. "That's why I'm telling you to just go home. You know what I did. You know why, and you know that it's stupid, that there's no excuse. All I'm asking is that you have a little bit of pity that I don't deserve and just let me be what I've been. Nobody."

Sam knew that Charlie was right. He knew that he should just go back to his life and continue on as he had been, secure in knowing that he was safe and no one could get to him. He should leave Charlie as he was. ...but he couldn't do that. He couldn't because of who Charlie had been and because of what Charlie had done now. He couldn't leave Charlie in the situation he was because of the friendship they'd had before.

"I can't, Charlie."

"What do you mean you can't? It's easy. Just turn around and go."

"I can't. Francis Bacon said, 'The worst solitude is to be destitute of sincere friendship.' That's where you are, Charlie, and I can't leave you in that state, not if I can help it."

"Why would you even care?"

"Because we were friends thirty years ago, Charlie, and the reason we stopped was not because of me. It was because of you. ...and even at that, it wasn't because either of us actually wanted it to end. As much as I hate this chair some days, my situation is much better than yours, because I'm not alone and I'm not really trapped." Sam smiled. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that it would be easy for either of us. I'm not saying that I can really forget, but I _am_ saying that I would like to be your friend again...if you can be willing to make the effort because it can't just be me this time."

Charlie looked ready to say no, and Sam knew why. Charlie really was much the same as he had been. It was just that he was a lot more miserable now than he had been, and if only because they had both gone through the same crucible in the jungle, Sam didn't want to leave him there, even if Charlie was insisting that he should.

"I know you want to just say no, but I'm not going to let you," Sam said. He saw that Charlie had a pen perched on his ear and he reached over to grab it. Then, he leaned over and wrote his address and phone number on the wooden railing. "That's where I live and that's my phone number. When you're ready, you can call. I'll always answer." He patted Charlie on the knee. "The ball is now is your court, Charlie, but you have as much time as you need to return it."

Then, Sam turned his chair and wheeled himself back to the car. He heard Naomi following behind. He got into the car and looked back at Charlie. He was still sitting on the step, only now, he was looking at Sam. Sam waved and then settled back in his seat as Naomi drove them away.

"Why, Sam? Why would you open yourself up like that, again?" Naomi asked.

"For one thing, because it could never happen again. For another, because I see now more clearly than I ever have why he did what he did. And finally, because Charlie needs it...if he'll take it. So I'm opening the door, but he has to choose whether or not he'll go through it. I think he will. Eventually."

Naomi smiled a little. "If you're so confident, why leave now?"

"Because I'm following General Washington."

"Oh, really?"

Sam nodded. "'Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence. True friendship is a plant of slow growth, and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is entitled to the appellation.' We were friends before, and Charlie let that go away. Now, if he wants it back, he has to show that he's willing to do something for it. But I'll hope for him to gain that courage. And you hope for it, too."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you can't stand seeing him like he is, either. There's no satisfaction in his situation. There's pity, sadness, regret. But not satisfaction."

"Charlie's right about one thing," Naomi said as she came to a stop sign.

"What's that?"

She leaned over and kissed him.

"You are definitely the one with all the right words."

"Sometimes. But I was right, too. I've never been alone. Because of you."

He kissed her back.

"Now, let's go home."


	58. Chapter 58

**Chapter 58**

"Thanks for giving me a ride down here, Tony," Tim said.

A lot of the drive so far had been silent. But an hour or so was enough.

"No problem. Are you going to tell your friend about all this?"

Tim smiled. "Nope. Not unless he asks, and he won't unless one of his neighbors mentions it."

There was a pause.

"Are you doing okay, Tim?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because... I'll be honest. You were kind of scary when you were trying to find all that stuff. I was afraid of what you might do if things didn't work out the way you wanted. Then, after it was all over, you didn't really seem happy."

Tim took a breath and looked out the window.

"I don't know what I would have done, either."

"Are you all right, now, though?"

"Yeah. I had pretty much convinced myself that it couldn't go perfectly right. Tony, I assumed that I'd be in prison at this point. I spent a long time making sure that I had the guts to go through with it, no matter what. It was hard to let that go. I don't know why, but it was. I think I...pretty much have... got that straight in my head again."

"Pretty much?"

Tim shrugged.

"Oh, no. You're not pretending that you didn't mean anything by that. Not this time."

"I just... I've had a few nights where I wake up and I can't remember where I am. It's nothing big. It's only been a few days. I've been informed by three different people that I need to take some time off. It feels wrong, but I'm doing it, mostly because Vance is making me."

"Why wouldn't you _want_ to? It's not like you were relaxing out there in that shack. I can't believe you picked that place."

"That's why I picked it," Tim said. "No one would have guessed it. But given everything I did, I don't feel like I deserve the time off."

"You do. So you said three?"

"Yeah."

"Vance was obviously one. Gibbs was another?"

"Yeah."

"And who was the third? I know it wasn't me. Was it Abby?"

"No."

"Ducky?"

"No."

"Your dad?"

Tim smiled. "No, although I think he's the reason Gibbs said I was taking time off."

"Then, who?"

"Secretary Drake."

"The... Secretary of State?"

"Yeah."

"He told you to take some time off?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you've got some important people on your side."

"Yeah."

Tony laughed. "You're not being very chatty."

Tim sighed and let out what he'd been keeping hidden from everyone...or what he'd been _trying_ to keep hidden. He stared out the windshield at the highway ahead of them.

"I'm feeling...disillusioned."

"Come on. It's not like you never knew that there were corrupt people out there."

"I know, but it's different when the corruption hits you, personally. He became one of the most powerful people in the country, Tony! And he apparently didn't hesitate to use that to...basically kill my father! Dad wouldn't have survived in prison, not the way he is. He would have been killed, and he's completely innocent! I was forced to break the law just to make sure that Dad wasn't killed. What does that say for this country when something like this could happen? It's wrong!"

"Yeah, it is, but don't give up on the whole country because of one guy."

"It's not just one guy, Tony. Secretary Drake is an honest man, so far as I could tell, but he was willing to go along with what he was told because it would have been easier. He didn't even _consider_ that Dad might have been innocent when that is supposed to be one of the basic rights of an American citizen. Innocent until proven guilty doesn't seem to matter anymore. I'm just... I'm having a hard time accepting all that."

Tony gave Tim a light thump on the shoulder.

"It does suck, Tim, but I'll say it again. Don't give up on the whole country because of what happened. Yeah, Stidden's pretty much scum. Secretary Drake made a bad decision. But it still worked out right! Charlie told the truth. Secretary Drake accepted it. And you aren't going to prison. It really went as good as it could have."

"I know. That's what sucks," Tim said.

"That sounds bad, but I know what you mean. What you need to remember is that, even though there were some scummy people, there were a lot more good people involved in all this. I'm going to sound like _Chicken Soup for the Soul_ , but don't focus on the bad parts. Focus on the good parts."

"Believe it or not, I am trying. Yesterday was the first day I could think of something unnecessary, like my car."

"I believe you, but your car is necessary. Not _as_ necessary as getting your dad out of trouble, but...hey! You can tell me about him, now! He's safe and you can think about happy stuff!"

Tim couldn't help but laugh.

"I should have known you'd remember that."

"Yes, you should have. Now, give! I've met your dad. He's a cool guy. Tell me!"

Tim laughed again, but he started to talk. He was uncertain at first, but after a while, he started to tell Tony about all the times he had interrupted his dad while he was working on his dissertation, but that Sam would still play with him. He talked about how much he'd loved spending time with his dad, the time that they'd gone to the Palomar Observatory, the time when Sam had taken him on a trip to DC. By the time they got to Norfolk, Tim felt like he was actually more happy than relieved.

"Here we are," Tony said. "Can you find your way back?"

"Yeah. I just need to take a bit of a detour, but I'll be back."

"Remember that you have to be back in DC in time for the party."

"I have told you multiple times that I don't need a party."

"And I have told _you_ multiple times that we don't care. Just make sure you come back...because you know that Abby will have a conniption if you don't."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be there."

"Good."

Tim got out of Tony's car and walked over to his. He hadn't really thought he'd be needing to get it back, but he was happy enough to be driving it. He got in, checked it out and it was fine. So he started it and backed out. Tony gave him a thumbs up and then drove off.

Tim drove, but not directly back to DC. He headed for the shack where he'd spent a very stressful two weeks. It felt like it had been much longer than that. It had felt like months, but he just had to do one thing.

When he got to the shack, he pulled over and got out of the car. Then, he walked over to the shack and, somehow, it looked infinitely worse than it had when he'd been here.

"I probably just ignored how bad it actually was," Tim said to himself.

He heard a familiar hiss and he turned around.

"Hey," he said.

The feral cat growled at him for a few seconds, but then, when it was clear that he wasn't approaching. It stopped and started grooming itself.

"I still don't like cats, but I wanted to thank you for warning me. You probably didn't know that was what you did, but you probably saved my life. I don't know what to do about that because you clearly don't want me nearby and I can't exactly feed you regularly. You seem to be doing all right in this place. I don't know why I came out here to thank a wild animal who can't understand a word I'm saying anyway. But I did. It's just what I needed to do."

Showing the amount of attention it was paying to what Tim said, the cat finished grooming itself and padded away from Tim. No hurry, no interest. Tim smiled. Maybe it was dumb, but he had felt the need to do it.

Now, it was time to leave this behind.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Faith leaned back in her chair, relishing the knowledge that she had some time off coming, that she didn't have to worry about the McGees any longer, and that there had been no further problems with being followed. Ensign Calder had given a statement to the State Department with the assurance that he wouldn't be punished for his role, small as it was. A couple of the other people who had been part of the intimidation had been found, but they'd probably never identify all of them, unless Stidden was willing to talk. She had been told that was unlikely, but she was happy to let the rest of this go on without her involvement.

A knock on her door brought Faith out of her reverie. She sat up.

"Come in."

"Captain Coleman."

"Captain Roberts," Faith said, smiling slightly. "What can I do for you?"

"Come to my house for dinner tonight and let Harriet and me know everything."

Her smile widened.

"I would be glad to."

In fact that would be a perfect end to her day and a perfect beginning to her vacation.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Are you sure he's going to be here?" Abby asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," Tony said.

"Are you really sure?"

"Yes, I'm really sure," Tony said, patiently. "He had a detour, first."

"What detour?" Ducky asked.

"I don't know, but he promised he'd be here, tonight."

"He didn't seem particularly enthused about a party," Ducky said.

"He isn't, but I think it's less about the party and more about...everything that could have gone wrong."

"Ah. It's much harder to stop thinking about what _might_ have been. I'm must say that I'm glad he's taking some time off. Even with all the time he spent away these last couple of weeks, he probably needs to adjust to everything."

"That's what I said, too."

"Great minds think alike, then, Anthony," Ducky said, grinning.

"Exactly."

Then, they heard Gibbs' front door open, but it didn't herald an appearance by Tim. Gibbs gestured for the others to stay put while he walked inside. He was surprised by what he saw, although he supposed that he should stop being surprised.

Tim was sitting on the couch, watching TV. Gibbs walked over and sat down beside him. He was watching ZNN. He didn't even glance at Gibbs.

" _...saying that he will fight these charges. There is no indication, as yet, about whether or not Nicaragua will attempt to extradite Secretary Stidden to be tried in the country."_

That was all he heard, but all he needed to hear.

"How did you know?" Gibbs asked.

"I got a call from Secretary Drake's office on my way here. Not him, but someone who works for him. She told me that it was starting."

"Starting?"

"Yeah. There's been no mention of my dad."

"Did you expect there to be?"

"I was afraid there would be. I had to see, but there's nothing, not even from Stidden's people. I thought that there was no reason to expect him to avoid it, but whatever Secretary Drake did or said, Dad's out of it."

"What about Stidden?"

Tim took a deep breath and turned off the TV.

"I can't care about him."

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, I'll forget about everything else. Stidden makes me so angry that I can't think straight. I just needed to know if Dad was safe. Since it looks like he is, then, I have to stay away from it as much as I can."

Another deep breath and Tim nodded, obviously trying to convince himself as much as Gibbs.

"Then, come on back. Dinner."

"Yeah, okay. I really don't need a party, though, Boss."

"Yeah, you do."

Gibbs stood up and waited. Tim finally nodded and stood up.

"I never thought I'd have trouble celebrating something going right."

"Just forget about all that, for now. Have dinner. It's not a party."

"Tony said it was."

"Tony would say anything whether it was true or not, just to keep talking."

Tim smiled.

"Come on, Tim. If it's over, let it be over."

Another nod and another deep breath. Whatever Tim might say against it, it was clear that he needed some time off to decompress after everything that had happened.

They walked into the backyard and Gibbs watched as Abby was her usual self and greeted Tim with a tight hug, as if she hadn't seen him the day before at work. Ducky was more circumspect but was slightly too enthusiastic in his greeting. Jimmy was just himself and he offered Tim the chance to get his food first.

It was a little awkward because Tim was still a little tense, but as the evening continued, he started to relax. It was taking time, but Gibbs could see that it was quickly improving. Tim just needed to get himself away from all that. The further in the past all this was, the better it would be for all concerned.

"So, what are you going to do with your time off, Timothy?" Ducky asked. "I hope you're going to visit your family."

Tim nodded. "I am. Sarah's going to be coming back next week and we'll spend some time together, although I don't know how she'll feel about it. Mom and Dad never told her how serious it could have been."

"Probably for the best," Tony said. "As I recall, Sarah wasn't the best at dealing with stress."

Tim smiled. "I'm not sure I was much better."

"True. You guys have anything in mind?"

"I don't know if Mom and Dad do, but I do."

"What?"

Tim smiled widely, the first time there hadn't been a slight shadow in his eyes.

"I started helping them renovate a bathroom before all this started. It's not done."

"You're going to use your vacation to work on a bathroom?" Tony asked. "Oh, Probie, have I taught you nothing?"

"It's your fault if you haven't. I'm just waiting to learn something."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"Oh, Tony, speaking of funny..."

"What?" he asked.

"I thought of another science joke."

"What is it?"

"I'm reading a great book on anti-gravity. I can't put it down."

Abby and Jimmy started laughing instantly (although Abby was groaning, too). Tony got it just a couple of seconds later and joined in.

"Tim, that is _awful_. Awful and lame."

"And funny," Tim said.

"Okay, okay. And funny."

"Good. I'm glad you admitted it."

That turned the conversation over to jokes that became more and more lame and pun-filled as the evening went on. Jimmy had the best one of the night.

"Okay. Heisenberg and Schrodinger are in a car. Heisenberg is driving and he's speeding. So they get pulled over."

"Wait. Heisenberg?" Tony asked.

"Uncertainty Principle," Tim said.

"You can't know both the location and momentum of an electron with perfect certainty," Abby said.

"How did I get stuck with a bunch of nerds telling jokes?" Tony moaned. "And Schrodinger? That's the cat guy, right?"

"Right," Jimmy said. "So, Heisenberg gets pulled over and the cop asks him, 'Do you know how fast you were going?' Heisenberg says, 'No, but I know exactly where I am.'"

Abby applauded.

"Not done yet," Jimmy said, really getting into it. "The cop says, 'You were going 50 in a 25 zone.' Heisenberg groans and says, 'Great! Now, I'm lost!' The cop asks them to open the trunk and he goes back and looks. Then, he calls to them, 'Did you know that you have a dead cat in here?' Schrodinger shouts back in irritation, 'We do, _now_!'"

Tim laughed and joined in the applause. Ducky joined Gibbs sitting on the steps.

"This may be the second best thing for Timothy right now. No discussions, no pressure. Just silly jokes."

"Second best?" Gibbs asked.

"First is being with his family. I must say that I feel this has revealed a different side to him."

"I don't think so."

"Not that he has changed fundamentally, but I think this is a dimension to what we already know that perhaps even he didn't realize."

Gibbs shook his head again. "No, I think McGee always knew how far he'd be willing to go for family. He just didn't ever tell _us_."

"How far is that?"

"As far as he had to...and maybe further."

The evening wound up about an hour later. Tony told Tim that he had to do something exciting on his vacation, not lame. Jimmy just told him to have fun, and Abby gave Tim a kiss on the cheek that made him blush. He lingered just a moment behind the others.

"Thanks, Boss," he said, finally.

"For what?"

"Everything. For not letting me do this alone, even though I was trying to."

Gibbs smiled a little. "You're welcome."

Then, Tim left. Gibbs felt that was a good way to end his part in this.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Charlie sat on his front steps, staring at the address and phone number Sam had written. Part of him wanted to paint over it just so that he couldn't use them. Part of him had wanted to ask Sam and Naomi to let him go with them. Part of him wanted to sink into the ground in shame. All the time he had spent with Tim had been relatively easy. He could see Tim's disgust, and he could agree with it, but Tim wasn't the one he had hurt. Sam was the one he had hurt, and that was the problem. Seeing Sam, in a wheelchair, thirty years older, and still with that same welcoming expression... Charlie took a deep breath and stared at the phone in his hands.

The thing was that Charlie understand exactly what Sam was doing. He was leaving the door open, but he wasn't going to force Charlie to do anything. ...but he also knew what Charlie wanted.

Every night since Sam had appeared at his front door, Charlie had sat on the steps, staring at the phone number...phone in his hands, ready to dial, but never having the guts to do it.

Could Sam really be wanting him as a friend again, after what Charlie had done to him? Could Sam really expect to have him as a friend when he knew Naomi probably hated his guts?

Could he take the risk?

Could he _not_ take the risk?

The sun was going down and soon it would be too dark to see the phone number.

Charlie thought back to what Sam had said to him once. They hadn't had very many serious conversations outside of their operations.

 _"Charlie, you need to take a risk for once in your life."_

 _"For once?" Charlie laughed. "We're going out and getting shot at every day, Sam. What more do you want from me?"_

 _Sam didn't laugh. "That's not what I'm talking about, Charlie, and you know it. Open yourself up to the possibility of rejection. You're going to end up alone if you don't try."_

Charlie shook his head. He really hadn't changed all that much from thirty years ago. Sure, he had a few friends, but he was alone.

And Sam was telling him that he didn't need to be.

He looked at the number again.

He took a deep breath.

And then, he dialed.

The phone rang, and he almost hung up.

 _"This is Sam McGee."_

Charlie said nothing.

 _"Hello? Is somebody there?"_

"Hi...Sam."

 _"Hey, Charlie."_

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim walked into his apartment, ready for the vacation he'd tried so hard _not_ to get. He walked into his bedroom and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. After a few minutes, his phone rang. He figured it was Tony, trying to tell him what to do with his time off.

"Tony, I'm not going to do whatever you want me to do."

" _That's good. You should do what you want."_

Tim sat up. This was an unfamiliar voice.

"Sorry. I was expecting someone else. Who is this?"

" _My name is Harmon Rabb."_

"Oh. I've heard of you. Uh...what I can do for you, sir?"

" _You can call me Harm, but I just wanted to tell you that I'm glad everything worked out with your father."_

"Wait a second...why do _you_ know about it?"

" _Because A. J. asked me to help out by asking awkward questions very quietly. Why he thought I could be subtle, I don't know, but I did my best. I hate it when politics trumps what's right."_

"Me, too."

" _Yeah. I can tell. Anyway, I saw Stidden on the news and figured that things must have worked out right."_

"As much as they could."

" _That's all you should expect. Don't bother wishing for what you can never get."_

"Are you speaking from personal experience?" Tim asked. He'd heard of Harm before, but he'd never actually met the guy.

" _In a way. It's not the same, but I got obsessed with finding my dad. He was MIA. It took me probably 30 years and I went a bit far. The end results were good, but it could easily have gone another way and almost did more than once."_

"So...you decided to call me?"

There was a chuckle.

" _Sounds silly, but I can see some of myself in you and your situation. Both my dad and my grandfather flew and I was a pilot when I wasn't a lawyer. There's something about that kind of history that... I'm not sure what the words for it would be."_

"It's a connection to the past that not many people have."

" _And it doesn't ever go away."_

"No, it doesn't."

" _Well, I don't have any great words of wisdom, but one piece of advice from someone who has gone into some of the places you've been, focus on the good stuff. Don't let the parts that you hate be all you see. It'll ruin your life, and there's a lot that you can do instead."_

Tim smiled. That was close to what Tony had said, but somehow, it sounded different coming from Harm. Not that it was more valid but that it meant something different.

"I am working on that."

" _That's good. I know that you don't know anything about me, but if you ever want to talk about it, in need of some venting or just to talk to someone who has been in your shoes, feel free to call."_

"Thanks."

" _You're welcome."_

Harm seemed to know that the conversation was over and he simply said good-bye and hung up. Tim looked at his phone for a few seconds, perplexed at this new evidence of how many people had been trying to help.

It was true, though. He was troubled by the demonstration of how corrupt people could be, but he should also be heartened by the support he'd had. It wasn't just Gibbs and Tony (who he had expected, if he was honest with himself). It was people who had simply wanted to make sure right prevailed.

He smiled to himself. There was one thing left to do.


	59. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

 _Two days later..._

"Tim! Wake up! The tile is waiting!"

Tim rolled over and groaned.

There was some silence and then the door opened.

"You're not going to avoid it, Tim."

"It's like three in the morning, Mom," Tim grumbled.

"It's nearly seven," Naomi said. "And we're burning daylight. Breakfast is almost ready. Get up."

Tim yawned and stretched. He had slept really well the night before. He sat up and saw Naomi looking at him.

"Sarah will be here just before you have to go back, but we're going to have the bathroom done by then. Get moving."

The door closed again and Tim got up. There was no point in showering if he was going to be laying tile. He headed into the bathroom, got ready for the day and then went downstairs.

"'Every morning hath gold in its mouth,' Sam said as Tim came into the kitchen, yawning. "Benjamin Franklin."

Tim took a breath. "'A man is a success if he gets up in the morning and gets to bed at night, and in between he does what he wants to do.' Bob Dylan. I'm not going to be doing what I want to do."

"Yes, you are. Maybe some details aren't what you'd choose, but you're doing exactly what you want to do," Sam said.

Tim smiled. "You're right. I am."

They sat together and ate breakfast.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

 _Six hours later..._

"Tim, you've got that tile upside down," Naomi said. "You need to flip it."

Tim obediently did as he was told. This was taking two or three times longer than it supposed to, but they were finally getting close to finishing the shower. He sat down on the stool, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You're doing great, Tim."

He looked back.

"Thanks, Dad."

He thought about what people had told him, and he smiled.

Whatever else happened with this whole mess, Tim had his family and that was the most important thing.

He leaned down and focused on getting the tiles right.

FINIS!


End file.
